The Art of Being Young and Beautiful
by Av H
Summary: London, UK. Youth and love go head to head among a group of ambitious young people who work in the Hub, a "hotspot" restaurant that attracts young people from all over London. Real World AU, main pairings: PruHun, USUK. Side storylines: Spamano, Swissaus, a tiny dabble of NetherlandsxBelgium. There is an equal amount of PruHun and USUK
1. Chapter 1: Her Anger

**_PLEASE READ: Okay, so this story is probably written in a different format than you're used to. There are two general storylines, one that is PruHun, one that is USUK. Both are main storylines (there are also side storylines i mentioned in the description). The story begins with PruHun and the second chapter will be USUK, and so on until both storylines intertwine. I BESEECH YOU to read both pairings because you won't be able to fully understand the story if you don't! That aside...enjoiiii~~~~_**

* * *

"Order 20's ready!"

"Coming!"

Elizabeta rushed over to retrieve the hot soup, setting it down carefully on the tray. The smell of onions and cheese wafted into her nose. God, that Francis. He was too good. This was what she thought every time she carried a bowl of French onion soup briskly across the bustling restaurant. The place was always full. Its stylish square tables filled, black stone floors lit by the modern, hanging lights from the ceiling. The sound of clinking glasses and constant conversation projected across the spacious room. Young people from all over London, university girls, bachelors, people in their twenties. The Hub (as it was called) was practically on-campus of the Imperial College London. Well, _almost_ on-campus. But it was quite shocking how many students from all around town come down just to have a few drinks.

The Hub was a masterpiece in itself. Somehow their genius owner and manager got together a group of undergraduate and postgraduate students of whom none are British except for himself, and then created a hotspot hub for young Londoners, only open for dinner and supper. Of course, it was kind of like a non-drug, non-disc jockey club between the two meals and after supper. In fact, some people came early for dinner and stayed all the way until 12:30 am, when the restaurant closed. During this long stretch of time, they would spend hundreds on food and drinks at the bar. Leave it to Arthur to reel in the cash.

"Liz! Hey, Liz!" Two girls waved to her from a table. She recognised one of them all too well. Flora, her name was. Bleach blonde hair, low-cut top, and tight miniskirt. She was here pretty often. More like every day. Elizabeta smiled and walked over. _Be professional, Elizabeta, keep your cool. _

"Good evening. What can I get you?" she asked in her best waitress voice. But she had a feeling what was coming.

"Hey, you think you could drop a note to Gilbert for me?" she asked, batting her over-mascara-ed eyelashes as she glanced obsequiously over at the bar.

_Do it yourself, you bitch!_ "Alright. What is it this time?" Elizabeta sighed.

"You know what it is..." Flora answered in a sickeningly sweet tone.

"Oh! And Alfred for me!" her friend piped up. The two girls giggled not so discreetly. But then again, the Hub was full of these giggles each and every night. It was all Kirkland's fault, but then again this was what made the store run. The employees, that was.

Elizabeta stalked over to the bar with her now-empty tray and, after pushing through a large circle of girls, kicked open the little hinged door separating the counter and the outside. "Hey! You two idiots!" she roared at the two bartenders.

"Excuse us, ladies. It'll only be a moment. Meanwhile, we'll let you decide on the next drink you want to order," Gilbert smiled at the crowd of girls with his abnormal but seductive ruby-red eyes, sharply contrasted by silver-white hair.

"Hey, Eliza, what's up?" Gilbert asked with a devious smile as he sidled to the side. _Great, he's in smooth-talk mode._

Elizabeta rolled her large, green eyes at him. She's known Gil for ages. Lived in the same neighbourhood as he and his brother in Berlin when her family left Hungary for Germany. She was nine at the time. The Beilschmidt brothers were something between family and friend to her. And somehow all three of them ended up in London for university. Both she and Gilbert were postgraduates now, Gilbert continuing his study of nuclear engineering at Imperial and she delving deeper into journalism at UCL (University College London). Ludwig, who Elizabeta could hear in the distance taking a phone call for reservations, was an undergraduate majoring in petroleum engineering, also at Imperial.

"Yo, Liz!" Alfred greeted with a grin. The young American joined Gilbert's side with an empty glass in his hands. Ash blonde hair, lively blue eyes, dashing, and only twenty years old, Elizabeta first got to know Alfred at work, but it turned out that he also went to UCL as a film major.

"Hey, Alfred," she smiled back.

"What? No hello for me?"Gil complained, "What sort of attitude is that?"

"You're one to lecture me on attitude. Anyhow, see those two over there?" she jabbed a finger at the two girls' table on the other side of the room.

"Looking for a good shag, probably. Your choice," she shrugged.

Gilbert shrugged as he and Alfred shared a nonchalant glance. "What do you think?" Gilbert asked.

"I dunno. Kinda thought there were a few better ones back there we could score."

"_Ja_, like that strawberry blonde. Nice legs," Gilbert agreed.

"Whatever. Just don't get anyone pregnant. Arthur will murder you," Elizabeta warned, then turned on her heels to return to the kitchen.

"You're jealous, aren't you? Just admit it!" she heard Gilbert's distinctly raspy voice shouting at her from behind.

She scoffed. It was like this every day. She was actually surprised none of the staff got anyone pregnant so far. Well, from work at least. She personally suspected that Francis had already fathered a few children on the side.

"Hey, you look arsed." It was Bella, her Belgian friend, roommate, and fellow waitress, who introduced her to the staff just so she wouldn't have to be the only female working in the Hub. Bella was currently balancing a tray of empty dishes in one hand as she joined up with Elizabeta. The two ignored rude stares by guys as they walked past. It was skill they had both mastered, holding a normal conversation in this hostile environment.

"I'm sorta hungry. You think Yao would let me sneak in a bowl of noodles or something? Or at least some soup," Bella said with a tired sigh. It wasn't easy working at the Hub, this they all acknowledged. In fact, the guys usually complained that the girls got the easy end of the job. After all, Arthur gave specific instructions for the men to sell their looks to bring in customers while he had no such requirements for the girls.

"Probably, if he has some handy," Elizabeta replied as they slid through the door to the kitchen. The powerful smell of intermixed Asian and Western food filled their nostrils immediately, followed by deafening noises only found in a kitchen. "Hey, Yao! Any food left? We're starving!"

"Oh, sorry, I've got nothing!" the Chinese man answered, his pony-tail bobbing slightly as he raised his head. "Ask Lovino, he's got spare bread!"

"Cool, thanks!" Elizabeta yelled back over the loud hissing of the wok on the stove, Lovino's 100 mph chopping, and the hum of Francis's oven. This was where the other specialty of the Hub centred on. The food. Besides Francis and Yao being uncannily professional at cooking though they were both only in their early twenties and neither majored in the culinary arts (Francis was an apprentice in the fashion design industry while Yao majored in computer science at Imperial), the Hub was literally a collection of international foods. It mostly changed between French and Asian, depending on what day of the week, and on some days like today, both versions of the menu are in play. Sometimes, they would also offer an array of Italian foods, but it was rare since the Vargas brothers were a bit slow and easily-distracted whereas neither Yao nor Francis could make top-notch Italian food. So normally, Lovino, the elder twin, was usually assisting in the kitchen while Feliciano, the younger twin, was outside "advertising" with Antonio. It was sort of a shame, since their food was so good.

"Hey, Lovi! Get us some spare bread!" Bella shouted to Lovino, who was attacking some cabbage like a madman. He chopped and diced very well, Elizabeta had to admit, into perfect little pieces that she could never manage to create herself. But sometimes she worried about him. It always felt like he was taking out his anger on the vegetables and meat.

"Go get it yourself! It's over there on the counter!" he yelled back in his usual annoyed tone.

"Which one?"

"The one with the bread on it!"

Ok, so maybe his temper management skills weren't so good. And it was hard to believe that he was even less tolerant of men, or so she was told. He and his brother were practically polar opposites. Elizabeta had never seen two brothers, let alone twins, so different. Feliciano was a cheerful airhead, while Lovino was a potentially-murderous and sulky pessimist. They both went to Central Saint Martin's (University of the Arts London) together, Feli majoring in fine arts and Lovi in architecture.

"Here you go." The girls were suddenly handed a basket of baguettes by Horace, the expressionless marketing major from Hong Kong, and also Yao's cousin.

"Oh, thanks, Horace," Bella answered with a polite smile as she took the basket from him. Neither Elizabeta nor Bella knew him well, because of his lack of...socialising in general, though they'd worked together for over a year now.

Horace shrugged, and returned to Yao's side to fold dumplings.

"Isn't he adorable?" Bella giggled. Somehow, Horace's silence was endearing in a strange way. He would say such bold things abruptly, though, and catch you by surprise.

"Yeah, I really think he's got a head full of mischief behind all that composure," Elizabeta agreed as she ripped up some bread.

"Definitely. He's cute, too. I wonder how he would handle being a waiter in front. We should make Arthur try him out for a day or two just for the fun of it," Bella giggled.

"So, what are we plotting this time, _ma chéries*_?" came a thick, familiar French accent from behind.

"Francis!" The two of them jumped, spinning around swiftly to face the French man. He smiled down at them, with his fine, blonde locks tucked neatly under the chef's hat, vivid blue eyes, and a small stubble on his chin. Even a bigger player than the two bartenders, Francis always complained that being in the kitchen meant he couldn't be outside with the ladies. But somehow, he still managed. Especially after supper rush, he usually had a swell time going around in front wooing all his customers. Sometimes, Gil and Al would demand that Francis come outside just to give them a break. Elizabeta couldn't help but admit that he was attractive, but she had no intention of getting involved with a man who only played around. With men and women alike so she heard. Bella, on the other hand, did not object, and have gladly slept with him around five times. Apparently he was "skilled."

"It's not a plot, Francis. Not everyone thinks like you," Elizabeta snapped at him.

He ripped off half a baguette for himself as he answered. "Isn't it? To get that red-eyed beauty to fall in love with you?" he laughed.

"What're you talking about? That's ridiculous!" Elizabeta shouted back, extremely irritated.

"Why, I'm talking about you, _ma chéri_! It's obvious enough that you want him. Why else are you so cold to the poor man?" he teased once again.

"No, I do not! He is the last man in the world I would go out with! What do you know anyway? Go bake your stupid cake!"

"Ah, Blanche is doing the decorating right now, and it seems that supper rush is slowing, so I'll take a few minutes break outside." Blanche* was his little sister, who was studying anthropology at UCL. In fact, she was one of the top students. In the one month that Elizabeta had known her, she seemed a studious and practical kind of girl, not like Francis at all. She was hired a month ago, after Francis had been bothering Arthur for half a year to hire another chef's assistant. Elizabeta looked over at the counter next to the ovens. Blanche was making an expert flower with the cream.

"See? I did not lie. I will be back in ten minutes. Tell Yao for me, _ma chéris_," Francis said with a meaningful smile. "Oh, and, Elizabeta. About your little love affair. We'll see." He winked. She stuck out her tongue.

"Oh, God, he is _so _sexy," Bella purred, staring after his retreating figure.

"Yes, yes, you remind me every day. Don't fall too hard for him, Bells. It's not safe, a guy like that. No, actually that goes for Al and Gil, too."

"Don't worry, Liz. I know my limits," she smiled back mischievously, "You, on the other hand, need to get yourself a boyfriend."

"Why do you say that? I'm perfectly fine the way I am right now."

"Because, _ma chéri_," she laughed as she imitated Francis, "your 'unintentional' desperate glances over to the bar are killing me."

"_Ó Istenem*_, not you, too!" she groaned as they finished up the last of the baguette they split. "Why won't you people just listen? Gil's a lot of things to me, including annoying bastard and good friend, but I don't want anything more than that!"

"Sure, Liz. Because that's why you're so arsed every time you have to pass the group of girls around the bar," she snickered.

"I told you, those slags annoy the hell out of me!" she growled through gritted teeth.

"Yeah, well, they're your paycheques," an annoyed but distinctly high-class Queen's English snapped from behind them.

The two girls squeaked and whirled around to find their boss standing behind them with arms crossed over his chest. His thick, golden eyebrows pressed down on his bright, green eyes, forming a disapproving scowl with a sarcastic curl of the lip. It actually would be an adorable expression—he was good-looking enough to join the two idiots at the bar—but for the fact that Arthur was their boss. "I'm not paying you to sit around to eat bread! Now get your pretty little arses back out there!"

"Oh, c'mon, Artie!"Bella whined. "We've been out there since five in the afternoon. Plus, Antonio, Feli, and Ludwig are doing just fine. Antonio and Feliciano should be back in the restaurant by now, right? People are here to stare at the guys anyway."

"Well, 'people' aren't all girls. At least 40% are blokes who come here are here to stare at you two."

"No, they're not. You know all the guys who come here are gay."

"Nope, nope, get out there. Go, now!" He pushed them toward the door.

"Arthuuurrrrr," Bella whined again. She'd known Arthur since secondary school, so she had the privilege of acting a little spoiled even if he _was_ their boss. Arthur may seem like an evil autocrat at first, but as far as managers go, he was actually relatively creative and open-minded. Plus, he had a soft spot for desperate puppy-dog eyes. Elizabeta wondered how it was possible for a graduate student to manage an entire restaurant and still keep up with his studies at Imperial as a major in business and economics, but go figure. Arthur Kirkland could pull it off. Somehow.

After they were cruelly shoved out of the kitchen, Elizabeta immediately went to collect empty plates. She always had a notion to keep herself busy and occupied.

"Eliza!" a male voice from a few tables away called. Startled, she automatically turned around and found herself staring straight at-

"Roderich!" she exclaimed, pleasantly surprised. The raven-haired and spectacled Roderich Edelstein, her ex-boyfriend from secondary school, and also Gilbert and Ludwig's relative from Austria. "What're you doing here?"

She strode over, happy to see an old friend after so long. She and Roderich hadn't contacted each other since she left for university in London.

"I'm here for six months to study with the London Symphony Orchestra. I heard about this place from a friend, someone I know from a while ago who's here for a year at Imperial. He said to meet me here, but he's quite late." Oh, and Roderich was also a piano prodigy.

"So, did you say hello to Ludwig and Gilbert?"

"Oh, my, Gilbert's here, too? When I saw Antonio, I was surprised enough, but who knew that the first man would see when I walked in was Ludwig!"

"You know Antonio?"

"In fact, yes. He performed with me a few times around Austria and Germany."

"Performed?" Elizabeta asked with a curious tilt of the head.

Roderich gave her a questioning look. "You didn't know? Antonio won a Europe-wide dance competition when he was sixteen. He performed a lot after that, but it seems that now he's studying choreography at London International School of Performing Arts."

"Really? That's amazing!" She was shocked. Antonio seemed like such a nice, modest guy, she never would have guessed...

"Yes, he is very good. You need to make him perform for you someday."

"Hey, hey! Roderich!" came a loud rasp. Gilbert was suddenly standing behind her with cocktail in his hand. _"Compliments of yours truly," _he said in German as he placed the glass down on the table. But Elizabeta knew that the two didn't get along. They were as alike as a fish and a monkey.

Roderich smiled politely at his cousin. Roderich was a neat, proper, old-fashioned sort of person. He highly-disapproved of Gilbert's indulgence of alcohol, women, and, well, everything else.

_"Sorry to interrupt (in German),"_ came a low voice, _"But get to work. We can save family reunions for later."_ It was Ludwig, wearing an expression of all seriousness on his hard, masculine face. Of course, he, too, was strikingly handsome, but unlike his brother, his neatly-groomed blonde hair slicked back out of his eyes and light, sapphire eyes gave off another aura altogether.

"Awn, but-" Gil started. Gilbert had never gotten used to the idea of his younger brother being the headwaiter, meaning being in charge of _him_.

"_Nein._ Get back to your work, _Bruder_," Ludwig told him.

"He's right, Gilbert. It seems that you have an entire brothel waiting for you," Roderich said calmly. Elizabeta snickered.

"Tch. Jealous?" Gilbert teased with a raise of his silver eyebrow. "But anyway, drop by the bar if you want a pull or something. I can have that arranged." And with that, Gilbert disappeared back into the swarm of girls around the bar counter.

"I see nothing has changed," Roderich sighed. "Doesn't he ever get tired with doing that kind of debauched thing with his life?"

"No. But the funny thing is he's never had a proper girlfriend before. I bet he can't hold one down for long," Elizabeta laughed a little uncomfortably under Ludwig's domineering stare. "Anyway, I've got to get back to work. Or Arthur will surely behead me. Oh, right, do you want anything?"

"No, I'm fine for now. I'll wait until my friend gets here. _Danke_."

It turned out that Roderich's friend from a while back was a solemn, Swiss student, who also happened to know Arthur. He studied international trade, so the two had quite a few classes together. Elizabeta smiled to herself as she watched Arthur sit down with the two, engaged probably in some fascinating conversation about current events. It was so funny how small the world was.

And so the night dragged on as usual, with things getting a little hazy and out of hand by closing time. That was when Arthur, with the help of Ludwig, Yao, and Lovino, shooed everyone out of the restaurant, after which most people proceeded to nightclubs. As she helped clean up the tables as the customers gradually dispersed, she caught glimpses of Francis and Alfred both leaving with girls clinging to their arms. After all the bustling had settled and only the employees remained, she found Antonio was taking some white wine at the empty bar with an exhausted look on his face. Bella was slumped on the stool next to him with a glass of scotch. Both the Vargas brothers were sweeping the floor, Lovi muttering in irritation under his breath. Basch— the Swiss student— and Arthur were still engaged in a heated conversation (something about banking and inflation) while Basch tried to wake the passed-out Roderich at the same time. How in hell did that happen?

After finishing with her share of table-clearing, Elizabeta walked over to join the Swiss and Englishman with a concerned look on her face.

"What happened?" she asked with a deep frown on her face. "I'm Elizabeta by the way. Roderich's friend." She smiled at Basch, who took her hand a little coldly. He seemed like the type to never crack a smile, she thought.

"I see. He's told me about you." His reply was equally stiff. "As to what happened...he had one cocktail."

Elizabeta's frown deepened, then suddenly-

She grabbed the glass and gave it a good, long whiff. "Gilbert..." she growled under her breath.

"Oh, God," Arthur frowned. "I'm so sorry," he apologised to Basch, "Our bartender is a bit of a practical joker."

"Gilbert Beilschmidt, right? I know the man. He's quite famous on-campus," Basch said as he and Arthur managed to pick up Roderich, carrying him towards the door.

"Yeah...he's...rather loose," Arthur agreed.

"I'll take care of this," Basch said, and thanked Arthur at the glass double doors.

Meanwhile, Elizabeta felt rage flaring up from the pit of her stomach. "Ludwig...where's Gil?"

The tall, well-built blonde looked up from his table-busting. "I'm not sure. Probably out the back."

"Thanks," she said, and barged out from the back door.

There was no one there, the alley dark with a large rubbish dump to her left. She looked to the right, which fed out to the busy London streets, shining in orange city lights and whizzing shades of every colour. There, parked under a tall lamppost, was Gilbert's one of a kind Mercedes-Benz, which he had modified so much that it only held subtle traces of its old self. But right now, Elizabeta only cared about the fact that Gilbert was currently in the backseat...with his tongue down some girl's throat.

Her hands clenched into tight fists, fingernails digging into her palms. She suddenly had the violent notion to smash his precious car to pieces smaller than Lovino's cut-up vegetables. With him in it, too. She took a few harried steps towards the car, but then stopped, frozen in place. Somehow, she could only stand there, staring with gritted teeth and feeling nothing but fury and revulsion.

"Liz?" Bella came up from behind her, sounding a little worried. Bella followed her friend's line of sight and spotted the car. "C'mon, Liz. Let's go." She took Elizabeta's arm and began to pull her away. Elizabeta's legs moved on their own, stumbling after Bella's rapid footsteps. Her mind was rewinding the images she wanted so much to un-see.

Bella led her back into the restaurant, to the locker room in the back. She sat her friend down on a bench then began to change out of her uniform.

"Liz, are you alright?"

"I..."

"He...does that all the time, you know?"

"Yeah...I know...but I've never really seen it before. It's funny isn't it. I've known him for so long."

"Liz..."

"No. I don't care about him. I don't care. Yeah, what do I care?" She suddenly sprang to her feet.

Bella sighed. She didn't know whether to be glad or not that Elizabeta could suddenly bounce back like a spring. Sometimes, a little too much.

* * *

"Gil!" came the angry voice as Gilbert Beilschmidt strolled through the door. Everyone was just about finished cleaning up.

"What's up, Arthur?" he greeted with a sly smile. He knew exactly what was up.

"I cannot allow you to ambush our customers!" Arthur warned, glaring at the German with a dangerous flame in his green eyes.

"What ambush? I have no idea what you're talking about." Gilbert feigned innocence with a nonchalant shrug while he held back his laughter.

"I'm talking about _this_." Arthur held up the cocktail glass.

"What? I mixed him a cocktail, he drank it. For old time's sake," Gilbert snickered.

"Really? Because I smell way too much Everclear*!" Arthur slammed the glass down on the table.

Well, it's a cocktail," Gilbert snorted.

"Gilbert, just remember that if this happens again, I'm firing you!"

"Yeah, yeah. You'll lose like half your customers if you do that." He waved Arthur off as he yelled to Lovi and Feli in the kitchen for food. He knew that Arthur wasn't serious. Arthur knew exactly the type of guy he was, and hired him despite of all that. Arthur, Antonio, Francis, and him. They rented a flat together during their undergrad days, but Arthur moved out just the previous summer. He and the other two still lived in the same place, except the hygiene level of their living environment had greatly decreased since Arthur had left.

"Gilbert," Ludwig suddenly stopped him on his trek towards the kitchen. "Elizabeta was looking for you."

Gilbert raised his silver eyebrows. "Well, well, well," he chuckled.

"She didn't look happy. It was about the cocktail," Ludwig sighed, in exasperation. He frequently complained to Gilbert that despite Gilbert's logic-based brain, things like this just failed to get through to him with reason. "What were you doing until now?"

Gilbert snorted again at his seriousness."What do you think I was doing?"

Ludwig heaved another sigh. What else would he be expecting? "What happened to the girl then?" he asked.

"She left," his brother shrugged.

"How irresponsible," Ludwig frowned disapprovingly.

"No, I'm not. I told her beforehand that it was going to be a one-time thing and that she needed to leave after we were done. And you know what, she went on with it, so...not my problem," he explained matter-of-factly as he occupied himself with wiping down the bar counter.

"You-" Ludwig started.

"Don't even try to reason with him, Ludwig. That's his 'policy' as he calls it. You didn't know?" Antonio cut in, his head on the counter. He turned his head slightly to face the younger Beilschmidt. The handsome Spanish dancer had olive-coloured skin, with dark, wavy brown hair and two pleasant, green eyes. The perfect bait for attracting customers. Which was quite a taxing position, since he had to stand outside the store for hours, talking and smiling to girls in a good-natured and gentlemanly fashion. It wasn't until supper rush that he and Feliciano—who did the same job— would usually come back inside to help with serving.

Ludwig's eyebrows wrinkled a little. "I knew he was...frivolous. I had no idea he had a rule in place."

"Well, he does things by procedure. As always," Antonio yawned.

"You, my friend, are drunk," Gilbert said as he pushed the Spaniard's head off the counter so he could properly wipe the white marble.

"Huuuh...where's Lovi..." Antonio's words came out slurred.

"I wonder if Yao still has some of that magical Chinese herb medicine that rudely jolts you out from a drunken stupor," Gilbert said as he wiped down all the beer glasses with expert speed. He'd been wiping beer glasses since he was 15, back in the good old _Vaterland*_. He used to work at a pub, since his rich family insisted he worked for his pocket money. It was wearisome at first having to serve people beer on the week days and fix cars on the weekend for pocket money, but eventually, he found ways to enjoy his new freedom.

"_Ay, dios mio_, that medicine was horrible..."Antonio mumbled, slumped once again on the counter. Sometimes, there was a downside to unlimited liquor after work hours. But Gilbert had to admit that the clever incentive did work. After all, Arthur didn't care how drunk they got after work as long as they dragged their arses back sober the next night.

"It wakes you up properly," Ludwig said.

"I'll wake him up properly." Lovino had suddenly materialised behind them with a broom raised above Antonio's head.

"Whoa, whoa there! No violence, tiger," Gilbert quickly raised both hands in the air in defence. He stopped Lovino just in time before the broom hit the back of Antonio's head.

"Lazy arse," the Italian swore under his breath, "If you have enough time to get yourself drunk, go wipe the floors in the kitchen or something." Lovino stomped away, grumbling under his breath. Gilbert knew that he probably would have smacked Antonio silly if it weren't for the fact that Arthur was nearby. Both the Vargas brothers had an irrational fear of the manager.

"Loviiiii...why are you so cruel..." Antonio whined in his semi-conscious state.

Gilbert sighed and, setting down the last glass on the shelf behind him, turned around and smacked Antonio hard on his head.

"Oooowwww..." The Spaniard swayed dangerously on the stool, liable to fall off any moment.

"Get up. We're going home." Gilbert went around to the other side of the counter and dragged his drunken friend to his feet by the back of his collar. "Come on. No...! Don't...ugh...how much wine did you drink?" Antonio had his arm around Gilbert's shoulder, too drunk to walk on his own.

"Wine?" -hic- "No, no...it was vodka."

"What? Are you stupid?"

"_Si_...I thought it was white wine...but it turned out...it was vodka..." he slurred.

"And you drank it anyway? The hell is wrong with you, _Dummkopf_!"

"Hnnnn..."

"Alright, alright..." Gilbert grumbled. He hated lovesick bastards. And unfortunately for him, that was exactly what Antonio had become. A lovesick bastard. He'd known the guy for something like four years, and he'd always been a confused airhead, but never like this before. No, it wasn't until three months when the Vargas brothers, family friends from Italy, came to London that he slowly descended into what Gilbert kindly dubbed 'infatuation schizophrenia.' But it was no wonder he'd never shown any interest in girls before this, despite his obvious popularity. Somehow, Gilbert always subconsciously acknowledged the fact that he was gay.

"Hey! Arthur! Me and Antonio are leaving!" he shouted to their boss, who was lecturing Feliciano on how he needed to stop getting distracted by food and girls. _There's the other gay one,_ Gilbert thought as Arthur waved back for them to leave. Arthur had only declared his sexuality to his three former roommates, but it wasn't that hard to tell just by looking at the guy. He fit the stereotypes all too well. He was neat and extremely particular about clothes. His features were distinctly youthful, though undeniably handsome, and his skin was too pale and perfect. But of course, that could be partly from his upbringing. He came from a supremely rich British family. But what really indicated his homosexuality was that he never showed any interest in women, much like Antonio, though he seemed to always know the right and gentlemanly thing to say.

As he started up the car, Gilbert began to wonder at the fact that he was technically the only straight one who had lived in that flat of theirs. Both Antonio and Arthur were gay, and Francis couldn't care less whether it was a man or woman he slept with. What were the chances? He'd never really been conscious of it until now, as he listened to Antonio's whines of infatuation schizophrenia from the back seat. _People really were hopeless,_ Gilbert concluded. _Making so many assumptions about life. What gave them the right to make random assumptions? What're we all doing with our lives anyway? We go school, fill our heads with rubbish about how the world works, go out into the world, and none of us has a clue how the world works._ It was all bitterly ironic in a way that made him not know whether to laugh or cry.

It wasn't until he parked the car inside the brightly-lit garage that he was boorishly awakened from this circle of contemplation. Across the side of his black Mercedes, all the way along the car doors, was a large gash carved in with some sharp object, probably a key. Under the gash was written in crude and pitiless letters "Bastard," in handwriting he'd recognise anywhere.

"FUCK YOU, ELIZABETA!"

* * *

Thump, thump, thump. The entire room shook with the force. "OPEN UP, _MISTSTÜCK*_!" the raspy voice boomed, followed by a string of profanity in German.

Elizabeta knew this was coming. She regretted nothing.

"Liz..." Bella groaned groggily from inside her own bedroom, voice muffled by the walls between them. "I told you...not to mess with him..."

"I'll deal with this," Elizabeta said, and stomped assertively across the sitting room to the front door. She wrenched the door open and found herself face to face with an enraged Gilbert with fist raised in midair.

"What?" She put on her best air of condescension.

_"What do you mean WHAT? DON'T FUCK WITH ME!"_ When Gil was mad, everything flowed out his mouth in German. The last time Elizabeta had seen him as angry as this was when some very foolish and unfortunate older kids decided to pick on his brother. Gil was only 15 at the time, but he beat the living daylights out of those guys.

Elizabeta was not scared though. She knew that he wouldn't do anything drastic like that. Not to her.

"Oh, yeah? So what if I did?" she challenged.

"You-" he lost his words in his rage. Then, he took a deep breath and said, "You will pay for damages, Eliza. Have you any idea how much that car cost me?"

She knew perfectly well that the car meant more to him than anything else he owned. She shrugged, leaning against the door frame, holding his ferocious, bloody glare steadily.

"What the fuck is wrong with you anyway?" he seethed. "What did I ever do to you? Don't tell me this is about the stupid cocktail! That was a joke! All it was, Eliza! But this is too far!"

Deep down, she knew he was right. He hadn't done anything to her at all. He just shagged some girl in the back of his car. Which he probably did twice per day.

"I don't understand you at all!" he yelled, ready to rip his own hair out.

"No! You don't! Because you're a big _Dummkopf_! That's all you are!" she screamed back, and slammed the door in his face.

"HEY!" He began to bang on the door again, coupled with muffled cries of German vulgarity. After about ten whole minutes, the noise died down and his footsteps echoed farther and farther down the hallway.

Elizabeta was no longer in the mood for sleeping. She sat on the couch, staring with half-lidded eyes at the black television screen. It was then that she realised that she was a big idiot as well. She didn't understand herself any better than Gilbert.

"Liz..." Bella trailed out from her room in a large T-shirt and shorts, yawning. "Why'd you have to go and make him angry...He's even angrier than he is in bed..."

"...Wait...in bed?" Her chest suddenly squeezed and clenched like a fist.

"Yeah...he's like a wild animal...not that I'm complaining..." she yawned, falling onto the sofa next to her. She was still only half-awake, it seemed. But Elizabeta was fully conscious. She was more than conscious. The sensation of falling. That's what it felt like. There was a vacuum inside her chest. Her palms grew clammy with cold sweat, fingernails digging into her thighs.

"You...slept with him..."

And Bella jolted awake. "Oh...my God...I...I'm so sorry, Liz. I never should've brought that up...It was stupid! I was stupid! Liz!"

Elizabeta rose stiffly to her feet. "Why are you apologising? What does it have to do with me?" But her voice was cracking. She sped into her room and promptly slammed the door behind her. She could hear Bella's muffled cries on the other side. "Liz! Lizzy! Elizabeta...I'm sorry..."

She blocked it out. All of it. Gilbert could fuck the whole city for all she cared. She hated him. He was just a gigolo.

* * *

Gilbert awoke to the piercing sun streaming through window. He groaned, his back aching from sleeping on the floor the entire night, as he crawled over to the coffee table and felt around for his phone. He knocked down an empty bottle of whiskey instead. _Oh, Gott...did I drink all that? Why was I drinking again? _He finally found his phone, and checked the time. It was around nine in the morning.

He sat himself up and, noticing the tremendously long list of text messages he had, began to scroll through his mobile. All of them were from Ludwig.

_Where are you? You're five minutes late._

_Ten minutes, now._

_Twenty!_

_Wake up, idiot! If you invite me out for breakfast, so at least be there!_

_Oh...right...I was supposed to meet Ludwig for breakfast this morning. _He had to talk to his brother about the will... But now that he was two hours late and it was obvious Ludwig had left by now, he was kind of glad he didn't have to talk about it anymore. Perhaps it was best to just leave the matter to fate.

_But I should call him or he'll hold a grudge forever..._

The dial tone beeped for a few seconds until the call was picked up.

"Where in _hell_ were you? I waited for an hour and you still didn't show up!" the thick voice boomed from the other end in an I-will-slaughter-you tone.

"I'm sorry! I was...ugh...it hurts to talk..." he muttered back.

"_Gott_, don't tell me you have a hangover," Ludwig sighed.

"Ugh...I wish I could..."

"You were fine last night when you walked out. What happened after that?" He sounded concerned rather than mad now.

"Ummm...wait lemme think this through...I got in the car with Antonio...drove home...and then..." And it hit him like lightning. "FUCK, ELIZA!"

"You fucked Elizabeta?"

"No! No, that was...never mind. She destroyed my car!"Though he was slightly offended his brother was so appalled at the thought of him sleeping with Elizabeta.

"Destroyed? How'd she do that?"

"Slashed the side with something. Now it's all fucked up because of her!"

"What? Just for the cocktail thing?"

"I don't know! I have no idea _what_ that woman is thinking! It's like she's mad or something! She doesn't think with logic! I went to her apartment and she just rolled her eyes at me like nothing happened! Wouldn't even pay for damages!"

"There has to be an explanation. You know she's not like that."

"Well, I'm starting to think that I don't know her! It's been killing me, it's like ever since a year ago she's been giving me the cold shoulder and recently she's been intentionally sabotaging everything that I do! And now this! At first I thought she was PMS-ing but this is WAY too much for that!"

"Uh huh...So are you skipping class?"

"Ja, I'm not going in hung over. Nuclear fission just makes my head hurt more."

"Right..."

"I'll see you tonight. I've got to...bathe..."

Beep. The phone disconnected. Gilbert groaned again and flopped back down on the ground. He felt like the sky was weighing down on his cranium.

Click. The door swung open, and a bedraggled Francis walked, in humming a French tune. Seeing Gilbert on the floor, he stopped and frowned a little.

"What happened to you?"

"Ugh..." And now he had to tell the entire story over again.

"I'll tell you when Antonio wakes up so I don't have to repeat myself..." he said as he finally stood up and slumped down on the couch next to Francis.

"Where is Antonio anyway?"

"In his room probably passed out or something."

"Oh, my, the both of you?"

"Well, I drove him back when I was sober and he was already passed out. You know his problem."

"Ah, yes, the beauty of amour," Francis chuckled.

"It's an illness," Gilbert grumbled, "Why do people fall in love anyway? It's not like the human race can't reproduce without it."

"You are just envious, _mon bon ami*_."

"Pffft. Why would I be? I told you, it's an illness people get in their twenties. Then they realise how stupid they are after getting married and it's too late."

There was suddenly a loud crash from inside Antonio's room, followed by a distinct moan of pain.

"He just fell off his bed didn't he..."

The answer was yes. Antonio soon stumbled out from his bedroom, hair standing up in random tufts, white collared shirt wrinkled and halfway unbuttoned.

"I think...I broke my alarm clock..." he grumbled.

Gilbert laughed spitefully, glad that there would be somebody to skip classes with him today. "So, ya lovesick bastard. How does it feel like to be chronically ill?"

"Stop it, Gil...not first thing in the morning." He trailed over to the kitchen cabinet and poured some stale cereal into a cup. "Want some?" he offered.

"No thanks," Francis replied. "Already had breakfast."

"Me neither. Not hungry." Gilbert stood up and began to unbutton his shirt as he entered the washroom. The door closed with a bang behind him and soon, the muffled sound of running water could be heard emanating from the inside.

Antonio shrugged and swallowed a mouthful of cereal. It did not taste very good.

* * *

1 Ma cheries- My dears (plural) in French

2 Blanche- I am taking the liberty and naming Monaco Blanche. Because it fits her.

3 Ó Istenem- Oh, my God in Hungarian.

4 Everclear- a brand of alcohol that's nearly pure grain alcohol (95%). It's used in small doses in some cocktails.

5 Vaterland- Fatherland. It's what German people call their country. Kind of like Mother Russia.

6 Miststück- bitch in German. Sorry if this offends you.

7 Mon bon ami- my good friend in French.

* * *

_**Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real peoples, places, or events is unintentional. Hetalia belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz. He's awesome like Prussia.**_

_**Alright, I'm glad I got to upload the first chapter today. A few things first: PLEASE DO NOT do any of the things they do in this story at home. They do many borderline illegal, illegal, and relatively immoral things. Be good, children! I would like to thank and credit my bestest friend The Strawberry for much of the inspiration and also for her help in evaluating the material. And if you've read anything else I've written before, yes i realise this is a very different style. PLEASE comment via reviews! I have to know how I did on this one! It's one hell of a big project!**_


	2. Chapter 2: His Serendipity

_**Chapter 2! USUK has truly begun, my dears. And without further ado...enjoiii!~**_

* * *

"Hey, hey, wake up."

_Go away...I was having a good dream..._

" The professor's coming! Al!" Someone shoved his shoulder.

_What professor? Why are professors in my dream? There should only be good food and..._

Smack. A yell of surprise. Fall. Crash.

"Oooowwww..." he moaned loudly. He could hear snickering from all directions.

Slowly, he picked himself up from the floor, rubbing his dried-out contact lenses so they came into focus. He regretted doing so immediately afterward, since he found himself face to face with Professor Davis's aggravated glare. The man, around his mid-thirties with a receding hairline, was not one to be messed with. And Alfred had crossed the line one too many times.

"Mr. Jones! I suggest you spend more time studying and less time drinking. It will greatly prolong your lifespan," the man lectured sternly.

Alfred wondered why all Brits had to speak so sarcastically. Wasn't it inefficient for the sake of communication?

"Sorry, sir," the American replied, scratching his head as he resettled in his stool. He hated these stools. They were wobbly and wooden, unlike the bar's, and it was so hard to get some sleep in during class. He studied film, so most of his classes were either about technique or communications. But as of right now, he was a class about graphics, which unfortunately for him was a.) in the morning b.) a small class so it was hard to skip out on and c.) taught by a really pissy professor. The stools were another wonder altogether, since apparently the university failed to secure proper sitting material for any classroom with computers in them.

"This is the fourth time this week! Get yourself together! I'm sure you have more than just my project to work on!" And with that, Davis trudged back down to the front of the classroom and continued his lecture.

Ok, so maybe he was a little sleep-deprived. But that was all because of his part-time job at the Hub, which was genuinely the most enjoyable part of his day. The only downside was that it cost him around four hours of sleep.

The truth was that when he took the job on somewhat of a very powerful whim, he knew that it was going to drastically affect his studies. Unlike most other fields, film required a lot of time spent on projects. In fact, Alfred had only taken up the video camera once this week, which was like a sure road to failure.

However, he had no intention of quitting the job. He was starting to think that it was going to change his life. No, it wasn't because he saw far-flung potential in a career as a bartender, but because of something, or _someone,_ who had practically pin wheeled into his life without warning. It was painfully cliché now that he thought about it, but it was also proof. Proof that he had been searching for.

Alfred led a simple life before he came to London. Well-to-do family in the New York suburbs, nice parents, a younger twin brother, and two hyperactive dogs. It was the very epitome of the average happy American family. His dad was a successful actuary, and his mom stayed at home with the brothers. He had always been the outgoing one in the family. Quarterback in high school, dated all the hot girls, etc. etc.

Things began to change when college came around. He got miraculously accepted into the Columbia University, in which he decided to study film. Initially, his dad was completely opposed to the idea. There were an endless plethora of reasons, like how it was an unstable job and he had little opportunity to lead a successful career. But Alfred had always been captivated by Hollywood for as long as he can remember. Aside from the fact that he had devoured too many bags of popcorn to count, the stories that the theatre showed him seemed magical, about heroes and love and happy endings. Perhaps it was naïve for someone whose father lived and breathed Wall Street, but he knew that he personally wanted to make all of that happen.

A year into his college career, he suddenly received a letter of recommendation to study abroad. In London. He was caught off guard at first, and didn't know what to do. The adventurous part of him wanted to go, but the less-outgoing part of him drew back. He had never been out of North America before. He had no idea what to expect.

But what surprised him even further was his parents' urging for him to accept the opportunity. Gain some insight, they told him. Go see the world. So he did.

And now as he sauntered along the streets of London in the weak afternoon sun, surrounded by different tributaries of people and bikes and cars feeding into the same swift, wide river of movement, he felt glad. It blended together around him to form a prism of rushing shades. The glory of the Victorian age mixed together with the modern century and its deluge of technology. That was the magic of this city. He didn't quite understand it, but it was something just on the edge of being tangible. It was something he had learned to become a part of bit by bit.

There were no classes for the rest of the day. He had spent the past few hours in the library finishing up that project Davis had assigned, and was now wandering around London with a camera in one hand. There was still a good two hours left before work. During blissful pockets of time like these, he liked to simply walk. Down the streets, crossing roads on spontaneous whims. It all reminded him too much of that day. That one afternoon a year ago that became more and more vivid in his imagination as time brought him further and further away from it.

* * *

_It rained that day. A mid-August drizzle that cast a mysterious mist over the new and ancient buildings. He had no umbrella, only a casual, hooded sweatshirt which he pulled ungracefully over his head. He had that, and a camera. He waited under the ledge of some clothing shops for the rain to pass, meanwhile taking aimless photographs of people in the rain. The thing he liked about Londoners was that they were always dressed for a photograph, no matter what time of day or season._

_And that was when he saw him. A little ways down the empty block. Through the lenses of a small, palm-sized camera, a man. A beautiful man, standing under a black umbrella, peering through a store's windows at the display of Rolex watches, in what looked suspiciously like a Burberry trench coat and a pair of very nice leather boots. But all of this was only details that Alfred noticed later. The first thing that he saw was not the expensive clothing or even the neatness of his character. It was his soft, blonde hair and thick, golden eyebrows, and two brilliant emerald eyes that belonged in a movie. He had a trim figure, the kind that subconsciously formed an elegant sphere around the whole of his being. An air of indifferent grace._

_The camera clicked away at lightning speed. He wanted to capture this moment. This man. He felt a desperate need to remember him forever._

_Which was why he was caught off guard when the young man suddenly snapped his head around to face him with an indignant expression on his face. "Excuse me." Perfect Queen's English. Go figure. "I might be mistaken, but were you just taking photos of me?"_

_Alfred lowered the camera and gave him a mischievous smile. "What if I was?"_

_His lovely green eyes narrowed, jaw tightening. "Give it here!" he demanded, arm outstretched._

_"As if." Alfred rolled his blue eyes playfully at the Englishman, and tucked the camera away in his pocket. Then, without knowing what he was doing, he spun on his heel and began to walk away._

_Just as Alfred had hoped, he heard quick footsteps approaching him from behind, then abruptly a forceful hand that spun him around. "This is an invasion of privacy! Those photos belong to me, so kindly return them!" But all Alfred was thinking was how his features were even more intricate up close. And that he was taller than he appeared. He had long, blonde eyelashes and a perfectly straight nose._

_Alfred only grinned back. "Nice eyebrows," he laughed._

_It had the desired effect. The beautiful man flushed, his cheeks turning a pinkish-red hue against the pale skin. Somehow, it didn't bother Alfred at all that he was thinking such thoughts about a man._

_"Bloody Americans…" he growled under his breath._

_"Whoa! Hey, don't be so hard on America. It's just me," Alfred smiled back. He would say anything just so the Brit would stand there a few seconds longer, even if it meant being cursed or glared at._

_But he wasn't glaring anymore. His eyebrows furrowed slightly, as he looked back at Alfred with an expression of mild curiosity. Then, suddenly-_

_"Come with me." He took the American harshly by the arm and dragged him towards a Starbucks on the other side of the street. The rain had stopped. Alfred gladly followed._

* * *

_"So." The Englishman sat down in a very business-like manner on the other side of the table. "How should I begin? Right, my name is Arthur Kirkland."_

_"Alfred F. Jones. Hailing from Hudson County*, New Jersey." Alfred leaned forward in his chair, captivated._

_"Alright, moving on. I have a job offer," he said._

_"Job offer?" Things were getting interesting very fast._

_"So, basically…" And Arthur explained the details of the job. How he wanted a bartender. But not just any bartender. He had to be foreign, a young man, and good-looking. But most of all, he needed to be able to smooth-talk the girls._

_"What are you opening? A male cathouse?" Alfred snickered._

_Arthur frowned, thick, golden brows furrowing. "Cathouse*?"_

_"You know. Where all the prostitutes-"_

_"No!" he immediately interjected. "No. It's a restaurant."_

_"Sure…"_

_"What's with that doubt? I'm serious here!"_

_"I can see that…"_

_"Well? Yes or no?"_

_Alfred fixed him with a sly smile. "Well…it sounds like that you really need staff urgently, huh…"__"…Yes," he admitted grudgingly. "Look, just give me an answer. I don't want to waste my time with you if you won't consider the job seriously."_

_"This is coming from the guy idly staring at Rolex watches ten minutes ago," Alfred teased._

_"Sh-shut up! The new line just came out!" He crossed his arm over his chest, slightly embarrassed._

_"What? Poor little rich boy out of money? Did daddy cut you off?" Alfred continued to taunt him with a huge grin. It was too fun, seeing that exquisite face come to life._

_"Excuse me! Little? How old are you? Seventeen?"_

_"Nineteen."_

_"Oh, well that makes me, one, two, three, four years older than you."_

_Alfred froze. He stared at the man across the table from him. Alfred expected him to be at most the same age as himself. But four whole years older?_

_"Really?"_

_"No, actually, I'm twelve. Yes, really!" he rolled his eyes sarcastically. He took a deep breath to compose himself. "At any rate. We come back to the root of the problem. Yes or no?"_

_Alfred pretended to contemplate for a while. Then, he leaned in closer with an increasingly devious smile on his lips. Truth be told, he had no idea what he was doing. None at all._

_"I'll do it," he whispered, "If you sleep with me."_

_A pause. But Arthur remained a lot calmer than he had expected. In fact, he seemed to be deep in thought. Then, finally, "What was it that gave me away? Was it the Rolex watches?"_

_Alfred frowned. Gave him away? "What do you mean?"_

_"I mean…" Arthur clenched his jaw together. "What was it that gave away the fact that I'm a…you know…"_

_"You're a…" Alfred stared at him, puzzled._

_"A homosexual, you idiot!" he said through his gritted teeth._

_"You **are**?"_

_"**Shshshshshsh!** Keep your voice down! The whole bloody country's going to hear!" Arthur quickly shushed._

_"But wait…really?"_

_"Yes, really! Are you saying that **you** aren't?"_

_"No…I don't know…" He was suddenly having second thoughts about his sexual orientation._

_"Then why did you ask me to sleep with you?"_

_"I don't know…I like you."_

_Arthur said nothing. He was silent for what seemed like a millennia. Then, the unexpected happened._

_"Just…one night," Arthur mumbled hesitantly._

_A surge of blinding joy began to burst from inside Alfred's stomach, like tiny little fireworks. "Just one."_

_"Fine. Just one."_

* * *

"Hey, Al!" The striking, silver-haired man waved at him from behind the bar counter. He was in early every day. Alfred had no idea why, since the bartenders had no reason to come as early as the rest of the staff. The kitchen always needed preparation, but the bar, not so much, and it opened later anyway.

It was only five in the afternoon, the official opening time of the Hub on weekdays, and there were already a loose assortment of single university students scattered around the room. A few girls giggled and waved to him as he walked past. What were their names again? He could never remember. Unlike Gilbert, who had to have some sort of trick to memorising things. He got the guy talking about atomic bombs once. He regretted it.

Sometimes, Alfred wondered why he never learned anything useful from Gilbert. The German showed him the ropes, from cocktails to hitting on women, but that was all he ever learned. Now he knew the name and proof of every single substance on the shelf behind him, and he also knew what to say to girls (which came more naturally than the alcohol), but he still didn't understand a thing about physics. It was people like Gilbert that made him feel like he had achieved nothing at all in his twenty years of life.

He had to admit that when he first met Gilbert, his first reaction was that he appeared a little odd with a hint of sinister, but still stunning nonetheless from an artistic point of view. Then he immediately began to worry whether or not he was sick. When Alfred finally asked about his hair and eyes, Gil simply shrugged and said "Dunno. Was born with it. Genetic mutation?" They quickly became friends after that. Alfred discovered that he was a lot more easygoing than he appeared, though he had this warped philosophy about how love doesn't exist. Alfred, for one, knew that it did, but didn't say anything. He knew that love did exist, and that it was very, _very _real. In fact, so real that it was only one door over, in the manager's office.

The night was pretty normal, but 'normal' at the Hub took on a whole new meaning. Somewhere during the supper rush, Elizabeta, the hot waitress who went to the same university as him, came up to him and Gilbert telling them about two girls who wanted to hook up. Hook-ups ceased to hold any meaning after the end of the third night he worked here, though he refrained from them in general. What he was actually concerned about was the way that Elizabeta was always slightly disgruntled at work. She was perfectly fine out of work though. They ate lunch together on-campus sometimes. She was nice, pretty upbeat most of the time, and told the funniest anecdotes about college. She was smart, too, like just about everyone else who worked at the Hub.

Which brings him to the real problem. Arthur. By the time he started working here, he knew that he had fallen irrevocably in love with him. But he soon realised that feelings were far from mutual. Apparently, Arthur was serious about the "just one night" thing, and continued to ignore his advances afterwards. All he ever does was lecture Alfred about this and that, and order them around like a proper boss. Alfred could only oblige. And after working there for a few months, he soon realised that he himself was nothing special as a human being. He was mind-boggled by the rest of the people in the staff. The Beilschmidt brothers and their infinite brain capacity and ability to build something phenomenal out of absolutely nothing. The two Chinese cousins, Yao and Horace, who both tested out of China with top grades in their respective provinces. The fine arts major Feliciano Vargas who conjured up the most radiant and chromatic oil paintings from some secret chamber inside his airy head. And finally, Arthur himself, who seemed to know everything about selling and buying and how to obtain money.

It was then that he knew. He had to work hard. Harder than he was working now, to catch up to the rest of them. Sure, most of them had a few years on him, but he thought that maybe if he tried extra hard, he could elevate himself to the same level of brilliance as the rest of them. The rest of them? No. Arthur. It was always Arthur that he was chasing after. He would gladly chase after him forever.

"Hey, Al, take care of things for a few minutes. I'm going to…talk with an old acquaintance," Gilbert said out of the blue, as he grabbed the bottle of Everclear and added a suspiciously large amount to a glass of cocktail.

"Uh…Gil? Isn't that dangerous?"

Gilberts blood-red eyes sparkled with artful menace. "Exactly." Then, he left Alfred to handle the girls alone.

Alfred chuckled and shook his head. Gilbert Beilschmidt never changes. Who was the poor victim this time? He watched as Gil walked up to a studious-looking, raven-haired young man with square spectacles sitting at a table by himself. Elizabeta, quite coincidentally, was also talking with him. Alfred knew that Gil and Liz had known each other since childhood, but had no idea what their past relationship was. Were they exes or something? Liz was always so hostile towards Gil.

Then, like always, Ludwig broke in and shooed the both of them back to their jobs.

After about fifteen minutes, Alfred vaguely noted that a blonde guy with a strict face entered and joined the raven-haired man at the table. But it wasn't until Arthur came into view that Alfred really began to pay attention. The three of them talked for the next hour and a half or so. Arthur and the blonde seemed to have a lot to talk about, despite both appearing not to be the type for socialising. Alfred tried to carry on conversations with the girls crowded around the counter, but only half his mind was listening. Fortunately for him, all of the girls were tipsy enough that it didn't really matter.

"Who are they?" he asked Gilbert, who seemed to know more than he did.

"Oh. The prissy-looking one there is my cousin Roderich." Alfred assumed he meant the one with glasses. "And the other bloke, I'm not sure. Roderich mentioned a friend who was studying at Imperial. I'm guessing that's the one."

Studying at Imperial? This probably meant that he knew Arthur. Which probably meant that they were just classmates, right? Or not? It was times like these that he felt he was losing his patience. It was very hard to keep track of a homosexual man you're in love with. Men typically had many more male friends than female. Which gave him several times more the opportunity to get "involved" with someone else.

Towards the end of the night, Roderich finally decided to down the cocktail, after which Gilbert lost his nerves and laughed viciously for a whole five minutes. Then he said, "I think we should both step outside for a bit, Al. So we don't get in trouble. Shift's pretty much over anyhow."

Alfred nodded. Gil then immediately turned to that strawberry blonde he was talking about earlier and said with a seductive smile, "Hey. Wanna go somewhere more…private?" She went with him unhesitatingly. Alfred shook his head at the way all the girls fell prey so easily to people like Gilbert, Francis, and even himself. Were they really that blind?

"Sorry, girls. Party's over," he said with an apologetic smile, and slipped quietly into the crowd.

But before he could quite get to the door, he was suddenly stopped by a gentle tug at his sleeve. "Um…excuse me?" It was a timid little voice. He turned around to find a girl, with pretty, round, turquoise eyes and a slight frame staring up at him nervously. He didn't recognise her, and she didn't seem like the sort that usually hung around the bar anyway. She was dressed in a flowery sundress, and had a little bow tied to her short, blonde hair.

"Yes?"

"Uh…sorry but…could you please do me a huge favour and…walk me to the nearest Underground* entrance…I'm afraid…of the dark but I…really need to catch the last train." London was far from dark, thought Alfred, but he laughed and said yes anyway.

They walked for a long time in silence. Then, she spoke out of the blue. "I'm sorry for all the trouble! I really…am useless."

Alfred frowned. "Don't say that. Anything for a lady." A pause. "But if you don't mind me asking, why were you there in the first place? You don't really seem like the type."

"Ummm…it's because…of Gilbert…" _Oh, Gil. Why do you have to wreak havoc on the lives of so many women? _"I…know that I really have no chance…so I'm just glad looking from afar…and I usually leave before it gets this late…but today…my brother suddenly came in…and I was afraid he would see me…so I couldn't leave my seat."

"God, you sat there for all that time?"

"Ummm…yes…please don't laugh…"

"No, I'm just a little concerned, that's all."

"Ummm…thank you." She gave him a shy little smile. She really was like a china doll.

"Who is this brother of yours anyway? I'm just curious."

"Oh…ummm…Basch. He seems really serious on the surface, but he's actually really nice. And he's really smart, too. He goes to Imperial College London." _Figures. Another one. _"He was with his friend today, I think. The nice man from Austria. I've seen him once before when I was younger…I think he knows Gilbert."

_Wait…Austrian who knows Gilbert. Could it be that…_ "Roderich?"

"Ah! Yes, that was his name. Do you know him, too?" she asked. She seemed a lot happier since they started talking about her brother.

"No. I know Gilbert, though. He's Gil's cousin, by the way." _So her brother Basch must be the one talking with Arthur..._

"I see…"

"Hey, where are you from? Not the UK, surely."

"Switzerland," she answered. _So a Swiss guy named Basch…_

They slowed to a stop in front of the Underground entrance. "There you are."

"Thank you so much for all your trouble! I'm so sorry!" she apologised again.

"It's nothing, really…Hey, I never got your name," Alfred suddenly added.

"Oh…umm…my name is Liliane, but everyone calls me Lili." She gave him a sweet smile, then apologised again.

As she disappeared into the Underground, Alfred yelled after her, "You should look for somebody better than Gilbert! He's not really all that, you know! He just puts on an act!"

Alfred didn't know whether or not she heard him. But he was no longer concerned with that. _So a Swiss guy named Basch with a really cute little sister named Lili…_

* * *

The Hub was silent. Silent and calm and spotless. Every time, after everybody else had gone, it felt surreal. Standing in the middle of the empty room with his reflection portrayed clearly on the black marble floor, Arthur began to ponder. Was this real? Or was _that one_ the real one? The one filled with laughter and toasts and loud voices all competing against each other. It was like looking through a misshapen kind of mirror. On one side, quiet and undisturbed, stillness almost deadly. Looking through to the other side was everything else that was supposed to be. All the noises of life.

Arthur shook his head and strode towards the door, the clicking of his footsteps resounding clearly against the walls. He was imagining things again. Growing sentimental.

The wide, glass, double doors delivered him out into the London night air. It was the drier season, so the air felt crisp and light. Arthur checked his watch. It was exactly 1:30 am. Then, he looked across to the city in the night. The stream of cars had slowly thinned. There were only a few pedestrians left, all either drunk or heading home. The lights glowed quietly. But they never went out.

This was what Arthur liked about London. It was gentle at night, but ever-present. And when the sun came up, it burst forth like new wave of life. And so it went. On and on, for years and years and years. No. The city never changed. It simply moved.

"Yo, Artie!" a cheerful voice attacked him from behind.

Arthur jumped, caught unawares, and stumbled around into Alfred's bone-crushing hug. He quickly pushed the American away, sputtering in his flustered state. "Have you no concept of personal space?"

"Guess not," Alfred shrugged.

"What are you doing here? I thought you left already with that girl."

"I _did_. I took her to the Underground since it was the 'chivalrous' thing to do, and then I came back," he grinned.

Arthur snorted at the 'chivalrous.' He knew that Alfred was only joking, but it was still quite ridiculous. "Well, it seems that you just wasted ten minutes walking back here. I'm leaving."

"Yeah, and I'm going with you," he announced.

"No! Go home!" Arthur snapped. He had no patience for this childish behaviour right now. "It's past midnight. Don't you have classes tomorrow?"

"Afternoon classes. I was thinking of skipping anyway," Alfred shrugged. He was keeping in pace with Arthur's brisk legs.

"Skipping's not good, despite whatever Gilbert tells you."

"How do you know what Gilbert tells me?"

"Because he tells everyone the same thing." Arthur knew this all too well. There were certain things that Gilbert told everyone, and certain things that he only told a few people. Arthur highly suspected that there were also certain things he told no one. But then again, the same rule applied for the average human being.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Stop asking pointless questions and go home now."

Alfred puffed out his cheeks, annoyed. "So, that guy you were talking to today. What was his name?"

"Oh, you mean Basch?"

"Yeah, him."

"What about him?"

"How do you know him?"

"We go to the same university. Why?"

"Oh, nothing. He just looked kinda…suspicious."

Arthur frowned. Suspicious? Basch? "How so?"

"Like…kinda shady, you know what I'm talking about? Like a drug dealer."

"My God, you've got to stop filling your head with television." He didn't understand how Alfred's brain worked. Most people daydreamed when they're bored and have nothing to think about. But it was like the complete opposite for Alfred. It was like he could be diffusing a bomb and still have random daydreams at the same time.

"I study film. That's kind of impossible."

"I realise that. But I don't suppose every film major who ever lived go around thinking about serial killers and finding their so-called one true love all day long," Arthur commented with dry sarcasm. Arthur sped up his pace, but Alfred matched it with no sweat at all. Curse the brute and his abnormal strength.

"I don't."

"You don't what?" The American also had this nasty habit of not finishing his sentences.

"I don't go around thinking about finding my one true love." A pause. "Because I've already found it."

Arthur heaved a great sigh. "Not _that _again."

Alfred immediately grew indignant. "What's your problem, huh? Why won't you take me seriously?"

"Because you don't think with logic, which is why I don't trust your decisions," Arthur answered matter-of-factly.

"Love is illogical."

"Yeah, well, at the speed you're going, you'll be falling in love every day of the week."

That shut him up for a few minutes. But not long enough. Just as Arthur was about to hail an oncoming cab, Alfred stepped in front of him in a flash and abruptly pinned him against the large glass, display window behind him. They were close enough their noses almost touched. He felt Alfred's hot breath on his face. Arthur simply glowered back into his cerulean eyes, darkened by the night. But he was unable to move, frozen in place like a statue. Was he scared? No. Alfred didn't scare him. He pushed the thought aside.

"Get out of the way. Or I will call the police on you," Arthur warned.

"Go ahead. If that's what'll convince you that I'm serious."

"Don't be an idiot, Alfred. I told you it was just one night."

"I know. Then was then. Now is now."

"There's no difference for me."

"At least give me a chance!"

"Get out of the way!" Arthur finally found the strength in his limbs, and shoved Alfred aside. He hurried over to the edge of the street and waved a cab. Without looking back, he quickly flung open the door and slipped in, slamming the door behind him with more force than necessary. He muttered the address to the driver and slumped back on the seat, turning his head to look out the window on the opposite side so he wouldn't have to see the expression on Alfred's face. _What the hell is wrong with me? Am I fucking mad? Why don't I just fire him and be done with it? Am I a masochist? _

He saw nothing as the streetlights flew past the window one by one. Only different images playing back and forth in his head. Different images, different faces, different voices.

"… _your brother…"_

"…_you're a homosexual, aren't you…"_

"…_brother!..."_

"…_I don't believe…"_

"…_It's an illness…"_

"…_you're foolish …"_

"…_ungrateful…"_

"…_if you sleep with me…"_

"_...I'm sorry..."_

"…_need money…"_

"…_I like you…"_

_Who am I kidding? I can't even find rhyme or reason in my own life. Who am I to lecture him on making decisions? _And he sighed. There was too much. The influx of vivacious colours and sounds. They ceased to make sense to him. He didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to think. At all.

* * *

1 Hudson County, New Jersey- for those of us who don't live around New York, Hudson County is technically part of New Jersey, but close enough to New York City (you can see it) that it's considered New York suburbs, as Alfred mentioned earlier.

2 Cathouse- American/Canadian slang for brothel.

3 Underground- the London Underground is London's subway system.

* * *

_**And there's the intro to USUK! [Insert same disclaimer as Chapter 1] Alright, so there's not much to say here. Once again, I credit/dedicate/ this to my best friend The Strawberry for her support and general awesomeness. I will be repeating that after each chapter, yes, because she really is amazing. ~~ and The Strawberry, if you are by any chance reading this, which I doubt you will since you have my original documents, you are awesome and don't forget it. **_

_**Once again, the next chapter will be PruHun. And yes, there will be a lot more character interaction here on out. Leave your comments and whatnot via review! I have to know how I did. If I made mistakes, I really do try and go back to change them if I have time! So please review~~~ Thanks. **_


	3. Chapter 3: Her Formula

_**Chapter three! Just a heads up: PLEASE read the footnotes. Some things won't make sense without them in this chapter. Enjoiii~~**_

* * *

__It's been three weeks since the incident with the car. They still didn't talk to each other. At work, they barely acknowledged that the other existed. Things have come to a stalemate. Or so it seemed.

Every time she glanced over at the bar, Elizabeta didn't know what to do with herself. Seeing him surrounded by all those girls, laughing and bragging like usual. She felt like that she had lost something very important. Essential, even.

It was only about a stupid car. Did he really love that car so much he would throw away their friendship over it? She didn't believe it. Refused to believe it.

Work had become long and tedious. She had to consciously stop herself from glancing at the bar. She was searching for a sign, _something_, hinting at the fact that he actually missed her presence in his life, too. By the end of every night, all it left her with was a tight ball of anxiety scrunched up between her ribs, liable to implode.

At least she was talking to Bella again, after the end of a whole week that felt like a millennia. She decided that it didn't mean anything. Not to Gil or Bella. Bella had made that quite clear. That was all she needed reassurance of. Truth be told, she wasn't angry anymore. She stopped being angry at him exactly two weeks and five days ago, when she realised just how badly she had botched things up. Now she didn't know _what _to think. Of herself, of Gilbert...What she saw that night when he was in the car changed her perspective on everything.

After work, Arthur unexpectedly pulled her aside. She hadn't actually properly looked anyone in the face since three weeks ago, and now that she did, she doubted that Arthur was in any better shape than her. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his skin was pale and slightly waxy. Not his usual healthy pale, but a much more transparent kind. She had never seen him like this before. Were the pressures of doubling up on schoolwork and owning a restaurant finally coming down on him?

"I was just wondering. What's going on between you and Gil?"

_Was it that obvious?_ she wondered.

"Uh...nothing out of the ordinary. We just argued about...stuff," she lied. Well, it was three quarters of a lie.

"Stuff, huh... That seems to be happening way too often nowadays." Elizabeta wondered what was going through his mind right that second. It had to be what was draining him of all his energy.

"Anyway, I was just going to say...whatever it is, try to make up as soon as possible. Your moods are killing my performance."

"_Our_ moods? He seems relaxed enough to me."

"Yeah, when he's working. But after work, he binges on beer or whiskey or vodka or whatever he can get his hands on."

"Oh..." Recently, she had been clearing tables really fast and leaving early each night just so she didn't have to be stuck in the same room with him without the huge crowd to buffer the awkwardness. She had no idea how much each of them were drinking each night.

Arthur sighed and rubbed his temples. "Look, Liz. I don't know what it is that happened... No. I must rephrase. I know Gil's side of the story, but that's as credible as Communist propaganda. And I'm not forcing you to tell me what happened, but will you please be the mature one and apologise or at least say _something_. His rude behaviour is bothering me."

Elizabeta nodded, biting her lip a little hesitantly. She knew that an apology would probably make things exactly the way they were before. But somehow, now that she thought about it, that idea no longer sounded so appealing.

"You don't have to," Arthur added as an afterthought, then left for his office. Elizabeta watched as he shut himself back inside the office. He used to come outside to 'regulate' them and enjoy himself a little, but now he'd practically locked himself up there. He wouldn't even show his face. Elizabeta secretly wondered whether or not he actually lived in the office after all. None of them actually knew where he lived. Not even Francis, Antonio, and Gilbert, though they suspected the general Knightsbridge area.

Poor man, she shook her head. He took life a little too seriously sometimes.

"Liz!" Bella hailed from the other side of the room. "Let's go!"

They stepped out into the mild night. It smelled like it was going to rain soon. Perhaps tomorrow. They began towards their apartment, which was about a twenty minute walk away. Neither of them had the money to spare on a cab, and the last train in the Underground was already gone.

"So I was thinking..." Bella started.

"Oh, no," Elizabeta feigned an irritated groan. "You were thinking."

"Oh, sod off! So I was thinking that we could go...shopping?"

"Bella, you know you're going to end up overspending."

"No, you are wrong! I saved up this time! Come on. All we do every day is go to school, do schoolwork, go to work, and do more work! We're twenty-three and in _London_! I mean, _come on_!"

"Alright, if you say so," Elizabeta laughed. She knew that Bella had a habit of overspending on clothes. Not because she bought a devastatingly large amount, but because she bought all the devastatingly expensive brands. They'd always joked about how Bella needed to marry rich in the future. But Elizabeta had to admit that a break would do her good. Both of them actually. They had just finished several massive and excruciatingly long projects.

Suddenly, they heard a disturbance far ahead, on the other side of the street. Someone was shouting.

"Hey! Get your hands off me, _un bastardo*_!" A strikingly familiar voice.

"Yeeerrr Italian, errrnt you?" a deeper, male voice slurred, evidently drunk. "Hahaha! Don't worry, just play a liiill...won't huuuurrrchaaa."

"Hey! I'm serious, stop it! I'll call the police!"

That was definitely Lovino.

Two male figures blurry in the distance, one much taller and wider in bulk, forcing the other into a wall. Elizabeta scanned their surroundings. The pavement was empty on both sides except for the two of them, and cars were scarce this late into the night. The two girls exchanged an anxious look, then both hurried across the street towards the two shadowy silhouettes situated at the opening of an alleyway. Elizabeta stopped Bella a good length away and whispered, "You stay here. I'll deal with this."

"Are you mad, Liz? That bloke's huge!"

"There's no time!"

And she sprinted off towards the two figures, focusing her eyes on the target. _You can do this, Elizabeta. Kick to his head. You've got one shot. _

Screech! Flash. Crack! Bam!

"AHH!" Elizabeta screamed and slid to a stop less than a second before she reached Lovino.

But the big, hulking drunk was gone. Replaced by a much slimmer figure, who had just thrown its entire weight into a momentous punch.

"About time you showed up, you bastard! Have you any idea..." Lovino screamed at the man who had saved him. But his voice cracked and he clenched his jaw, falling silent. Lovino had been scared after all.

Elizabeta stared, wide-eyed and bewildered, at the car that had suddenly screeched onto the pavement. It was Gilbert's black Mercedes. The slashes on the side were gone.

"Lovi! I'm so sorry! Please forgive me!"The man who had saved him pleaded in distress, even though none of it was his fault in the first place. The Spanish accent and the beseeching manner in which he spoke was enough to tip her off. _Just as I suspected. Antonio._ Elizabeta finally found the sensation in her stiff legs, which felt like all blood flow had gone out of, and made her way carefully around the car to join their side.

"Antonio!" she called out.

"Liz? What are you doing here?" Antonio's eyes widened. He was not expecting her. "It's not safe." He rubbed his pained knuckles with his other hand. Lovi stared at Elizabeta with a relieved expression. He was shaken from the inside out.

"I was on my way home with Bella. What are _you_ doing here?"

Elizabeta peered into the alley where the assaulter had landed. Antonio had sent him flying backwards a good few metres. She never knew that he had so much fight in him.

"We were headed home, too, but Francis wanted to drop by at the corner shop," the Spaniard answered, scratching his head. He seemed to be confused as to how he had hit the guy so hard as well.

"Corner shop's the other direction," Elizabeta frowned.

"Oh..." He gave an awkward laugh. "Well…Francis was driving."

By this time, Francis had jumped out of the car to join them, along with Bella who jogged over from down the street. They both appeared somewhat frazzled.

"What about you, Lovi?" Elizabeta asked with a deeply concerned frown. The Italian looked like he had just seen a corpse.

"Uh...I dunno...the fucking bastard was stalking me. So I thought I could lose him if I went a little further. But he somehow took a shortcut of some kind and cornered me instead. At first I thought he just wanted money, but_...WHO IN THEIR RIGHT MIND RAPES A MAN ANYWAY?_" He abruptly freaked, clutching his sides as if frightened someone might come and drag him away any moment.

"Loviiiii, I'm so sorry!" Antonio, always the drama queen, sounded like he was about to cry as he sprang over and heroically squeezed Lovino into a choking hug.

"Let go of me! I don't need a second bastard all over me in the same night!" Lovino grew flustered and tried desperately to pry off Antonio's grip.

Elizabeta and Bella both giggled, relief washing through their veins. It was fine. Everything was fine. And no one got hurt. They were lucky enough that Francis wanted to go to the corner, and that he drove the wrong way, and that they came at the nick of time. So lucky, it was unbelievable.

Then, Elizabeta had to ask about something she'd been bothered by for the past few minutes. "Ummm...Francis. Where's Gil...he wouldn't trust anyone else with his car..." Her voice trailed off into the quiet night. She stared down at her own two hands, which had involuntarily formed tight fists.

"Worried, _ma chérie_?" Francis teased. "He's in the back. Completely passed out."

"...Oh..." So the part about him drinking wasn't a lie.

"We'll give you a ride," Francis smiled, and steered both the girls towards the car. "Come on. Statistically, you're both more susceptible to rape than Lovino is."

"You, too, Lovi. It's a six people car," Antonio quickly added, shoving the Italian towards the car. Lovino didn't complain.

"Why am I stuck in front with the two of you?" Lovino complained sourly. Though Elizabeta couldn't see his face, she could imagine the aggravated scowl well enough. Francis was at the wheel and Antonio was in the passenger's seat. Lovino was uncomfortably sandwiched between the two of them, especially since all three men weren't petite by any standard.

In a normal situation, Elizabeta would have laughed. But right now, she was preoccupied. Gilbert was right next to her, propped up against the car door. Bella was on her other side, pretending that there was nothing wrong at all. Elizabeta tried not to steal glimpses, for fear that he would suddenly wake up and demand an answer as to why she had destroyed his car. But she failed to do even that, and neither did he spontaneously spring awake.

The street lights glanced over his face as they drove along, odd geometric shapes of yellow, orange, and blue chasing away the dark shadows one after another. The light had a mysterious effect on his silvery-white hair, dyeing it with tinted shades of the night cityscape.

'_And I'm not forcing you to tell me what happened, but will you please be the mature one and apologise or at least say _something_...' I guess I should, huh? I mean, for him…I'm probably unjustified. I guess I _am_ unjustified. He was just my friend. That's all. Was? Isn't he still my friend?_

Her insides were in a tumult. It was as if someone had taken her inner universe and reversed all the laws of gravity. She needed an anchor. And the anchor happened to be sitting right next to her. She let her long brown locks fall over her eyes. Gingerly, softly, so that no one would see, she slipped her hand under his limp, warm one so their fingers intertwined. It was then that she noticed how long and slender his fingers were, palm strong and hard.

Perhaps it was a good thing, she began to think. This argument. This fight. Because it broke down her emotions piece by piece and put them back together in a whole new way. They weren't new emotions, no. She just saw them clearly now. Like how rearranging a complex formula could allow the discovery of something concealed. Only then can one find the correct answer.

She knew her correct answer now.

* * *

He awoke to someone shaking him violently by the shoulders. It wasn't the most pleasant way to wake up.

"Gil! _Gil!_ _GILBERT!"_

"Hnnnggg..." He opened his eyes a crack to a pair of slightly impatient green eyes staring down at him.

"Get up," said Antonio.

"I'll just skip today..."

"It's Thursday, Gil." Gilbert felt like he was forgetting something important.

"So?" He pushed himself up to sit. This was getting to be a regular routine. Waking up hung over, eating nothing until the afternoon, and walking around campus (when he didn't skip classes) like a zombie.

"You have that lab you've been going on about for weeks! Remember? Ugh. Get up! You're worse than I am! Sometimes I really wish Arthur would come back. He'd beat you out of bed with an umbrella."

"Fine! Fine, I'm up." He stumbled across the room and pulled on a black T-shirt. Antonio threw him some jeans.

"Is Francis home yet?" he asked as he finished changing.

"Francis came home _with _us yesterday."

"He did?"

"You were completely passed out the entire time. But we ran into some trouble on the way home."

"What trouble?"

"Some drunkard tried to rape Lovi!" Antonio jumped from disapproving parent to heartbroken knight. "I couldn't believe it!"

"Ugh...did you wake me up _just _to tell me that?"

"No! Of course not. But he's okay though."

"I know that."

"Huh? You can't possibly have been..."

"If he really got raped, you would be crying in a corner right now."

"I suppose you are right..."

Gilbert rolled his eyes. Lovesick bastard. He would rather die than turn into one of those. He trailed across the hall into the washroom, went through the robotic morning routine that he had recently abandoned, then dragged himself out into the living room feeling like his eyes were more bloodshot than they should be.

"_Bonjour, mon ami_," Francis greeted. "Eat." He instantaneously shoved a piece of toast in Gilbert's face.

"Not hungry," Gilbert grumbled. He sat there wondering where Francis had conjured up toast, milk, and other unprocessed foods. But it didn't matter. It felt like forever since he had been hungry. Perhaps his body had forgotten hunger altogether.

"Eat food, Gilbert. Starving yourself won't make her love you," Francis said with a sigh.

"I don't know what the bloody fuck you're talking about." But he took the piece of toast anyway and stuffed it grudgingly into his mouth. It tasted better than he had expected. He had tasted almost nothing but alcohol for three days in a row. The carbohydrates and fibre felt good in his mouth, as if he was remembering some vague notion of primal instincts encoded into his genes.

It wasn't until he sat down at the kitchen counter that he noticed something was unusual. Francis and Antonio both pulled up a chair on either side of him, dressed and ready at 8: 34 am, fully awake, and staring at him with gigantic, round, expectant eyes.

He frowned, giving both of them a dose of his peeved face. "Cut it out, idiots. If it's money you want, I'll give it to you. Just stop being weird."

"No, no, no. We don't want your money. Well, I don't. Antonio might need some," Francis smiled harmlessly.

"Hey!" Antonio interjected indignantly.

"Whatever! What do you want from me?" Gilbert was a little unsettled. There was definitely something up.

"It's not what _we_ want from_ you_. It's what _you _need from _us_," Francis rattled knowingly.

"The bloody hell is that?"

"Counselling."

Gilbert stared blankly. What type of counselling did _he _need? As far as he was concerned, he knew everything that he needed to know.

"Like...maybe...about your drinking? And why you're drinking? Maybe specifically in relation to Elizabeta?" Francis gave him a nudge.

"Uh...how are those two related?" _I'm just drinking because..._

"Maybe...because you're upset?" Antonio suggested.

"About the car? I fixed it. I knew a bloke from our company here. It cost me nothing at all."

"So you're not mad at her anymore?"

"Uh...I suppose not."

"Then...why are you drinking?"

"Because I want to." But for some unfeasible reason, he grew even more uneasy at this. Why _was_ he drinking? He wasn't even sure. Ever since that night he had just sort of...let himself go. It wasn't like before, when he would drink for the exhilaration. He had always been able to appreciate drinking as a lifestyle. A kind of art that came in many forms. In luxury, in heroism, in exaltation, in thrill. But this was a different kind of drinking. It was empty drinking. It had lost meaning altogether.

"You _want _to wake up with a headache every morning and go to class in a drunken stupor," Francis rolled his eyes sarcastically. The French man rarely used sarcasm. He must have been supremely exasperated.

"Uh..." Gilbert didn't know what to say. What was there to say? That he enjoyed being hung over half the time?

"You, my friend, are in denial," Francis said with a wave of his hand. "You are clearly suffering from a love crisis. Just like Antonio here. Except the difference is that Antonio's an idiot ("H-Hey!") who only knows how to be clingy, and you're an even bigger idiot who can't even accept that you're in love."

Gilbert's grip on the glass of milk tightened. Then, he uttered a humourless laugh. "...You can't be serious about this." He abruptly got to his feet, and downed the rest of the milk in one gulp.

"I have to go," he said stiffly. He felt like he was going to hurl all of a sudden.

"Go where?" Francis had a scowl on his face.

"Lab."

"Hey! Lab starts at three! A bit early, don't you think?" Antonio yelled after him. But he was already gone, faster than a scampering hare, leaving the door swinging in his wake. Francis sighed and shook his head.

"He's even more hopeless than I thought."

* * *

The monotonous dial tone beeped for almost a whole minute. Click. Someone from the other end finally picked up.

"Arthur! Thank Gott, you're there."

"Oh! Um, hey, Gil. You're awake." Gil's brow furrowed a little at Arthur's voice. It sounded thick and a little cracked, like he had just been woken up. This wasn't like Arthur. He was always the one up bright early to watch the news with a cup of tea in his hand. But Gilbert pushed the thought aside for now.

"Ja, but never mind that. Listen, I'm right on campus. Can you meet me real quick at Princes?"

"Uh...sure. Give me ten minutes."

"Okay. Hey. Thanks."

"...You're welcome?"

Click. He hung up. But somehow, Gilbert can't shake off the feeling that there was something Arthur wasn't telling him. When did Arthur ever wake up later than 7:30? Except for that one time...

"Gilbert?" An unpleasantly familiar smooth, mid-tone male voice.

Gilbert's looked up to face a slightly-bemused Roderich and his half-rimmed rectangular glasses.

"Oh. It's you," Gilbert muttered in a bored voice. "What're you doing here?"

"None of your business," he threw back guardedly.

"Tch. This is the Imperial College of Science, Technology, and Medicine. Go back and play your keyboard, Miss Edelstein." Gilbert's foul mood had dropped even lower. He knew that taking it all out on Roderich was entirely unreasonable and unjustified, but there was something about the guy that pushed all the wrong buttons.

"Excuse me! You're lucky I'm not asking for compensation of any kind for that little prank with the cocktail the other night!" Roderich flared. He had always been one of those uptight bastards who were easily incensed.

"Oh, yeah? And exactly what kind of 'compensation' did you have in mind?" Gilbert snapped, feeling indignant despite knowing that he was the one in the wrong.

"Hey, what's going on here?"

The cousins turned towards the source of the voice to find Basch standing next to them with hands on his hips.

"Nothing," Gilbert muttered under his breath. He looked away, disgruntled.

"Sorry, I'm late again. I can barely keep track of Lili these days," he sighed, then fixed Gilbert with a hostile glare.

"Beilschmidt, right?"

"Oh, you're the Swiss bloke who was with Roderich the other day."

"Yes, and you're the rude bartender who drugged your customer," he answered coldly.

"It was alcohol. Get over it. I could've downed at least two of those without feeling a thing. It's his fault for having such low tolerance." Gilbert jabbed a finger at Roderich, who could only fix his antagonistic cousin with a menacing glare.

"Don't get too cocky, Beilschmidt. I'm telling you, one report to the school about your behaviour and they'll kick you out."

"You can't threaten me. I haven't done anything illegal," Gilbert retorted icily, then turned his back on the two and went across the street towards Princes Garden. He was thoroughly convinced he had no interest in wasting his time on pointless bickering with people he disliked.

* * *

Gilbert strolled around the park for a few minutes, the haze of green all around blurring together in his peripherals. Grass, trees, bushes. There was little difference. Sometimes, he wondered if he saw the world differently than everyone else behind his blood-coloured eyes. Maybe everyone else saw more clearly than he did. Maybe that's why...

"Hey!" Arthur waved towards him inside his sleek black Audi and pulled up along the side of the road. He got out and jogged over, dressed in a simple white shirt, tight black jeans, and with a loose red bandana around his neck, a get up that was unusually casual for the Englishman.

"Heyyy, what's with the bandana..."

"Oh." Arthur stopped to catch his breath. He also appeared as if he had just run a marathon. "I...had to rush."

Gilbert frowned and shot him a suspicious look. "Where were you last night..."

"What do you mean where?" he threw back, a little too quickly.

"I mean...who did you sleep with?" A sly smile curled onto Gilbert's lips.

Arthur flushed scarlet from ear to ear. "What're you talking about? Ha! Why would you think that?" But it was no use at all. Gilbert almost fell over laughing, seeing his friend so obviously flustered. "Gott, you are so gay," Gilbert snorted.

"Sh-shut up! Gil! There are people!" Arthur said through clenched teeth.

"Don't worry so much. No one knows who you are. Come on, let's walk."

They began making another round through the park. They used to spend a lot of time here before and after lunch, complaining about how the world was going to hell. Gilbert wondered where those innocent days went, when they, the four of them in the same flat, used to make toasts to the total destruction of all politicians. Where did time go?

"So, what was your emergency?" Arthur inquired, his hands shoved into his pants pocket.

Gilbert stopped awkwardly for a few seconds. "Ah, right...that. Hey, remember that one night—two years ago? — when you said you were in love with someone?" Gilbert began. It wasn't the kind of thing he usually talked about with people. Or thought about at all.

"...Yeah?"

"Whatever happened to that?"

"Nothing...I gave up after a while...it was hopeless...why do you ask?" Arthur fidgeted a little uncomfortably with his bandana.

"No...I was just wondering...what did it feel like?"

Arthur's thick eyebrows furrowed. "Hmmm...it's hard to describe. You just sort of...know it."

"That's not really a description."

"I know. I guess it really messes you up. Like the opposite of logic."

"The opposite of logic, huh...Well, I have no idea what that is, but it must be horrible." Gilbert didn't know what he would do without logic in his life. With rational thinking, there was always an answer. Even if the answer was infinite, you would know for sure that it was infinite. All that in-between stuff was too much of a hassle for him to figure out.

"No, not horrible. More like...bipolar. One minute you're in heaven, and then the next you're in hell."

Gilbert gulped. "That sounds really...horrible."

"Uh...Gil...if you don't mind me saying...you kind of sound like you're trying to diagnose yourself or something."

"What? No! That's ridiculous. You know I would never fall for that kind of thing. I was just curious, you know. Natural human curiosity."

"Sure..."

They walked for another hour or so, making circles around the park. They didn't touch the subject again. Then, the sky blackened. Soon enough, rain was pouring down on the street. The two sprinted for cover inside the school, and ended up taking refuge in the library.

The library was immense, a collection of literature, references, and documents from the beginning of European history to the present day. Gilbert didn't like it much, though. It held too many unorganised thoughts. And romance novels. Arthur, on the other hand, could live in it. They used to joke that he should just make a bed out of books and just stay here.

They sat down at a table, attempting to dry their drenched clothing, and continued to talk in hushed voices. The wet clothes seemed to bother Arthur a lot as he shifted around clumsily in his chair. He was always a little anal about this kind of thing. Unfortunately, however, Gilbert soon noticed that small groups of girls began to huddle together behind the bookshelves, casting over flirty glances at the two of them. _I've gotten way too famous around these parts... _

"You're attracting too much attention," came a low, stern voice.

They looked up to find Ludwig, looming over them with his typical seriousness and a stack of thick books in his arms.

"Hey, Lutz," Gilbert grinned. His mood always lifted a little when he saw his brother. "Need some help with the books?"

"_Nein, Danke_."

Coincidentally, the whispering seemed to have only increased with Ludwig's arrival. Gilbert snorted a little. "I don't think we're the only ones attracting attention."

Ludwig cleared his throat, blushing a little.

Arthur propped his head up on the table with an exhausted sigh. "I heard that Lovino almost got raped last night."

"Oh...yeah...I was there. Kind of," Gilbert muttered.

"You know, I think we're beginning to attract _too_ much attention." Arthur seemed anxious, leaning forward in his chair as he drummed his fingers on the table.

"But attention's good isn't it?" Ludwig asked with a frown. "Good for the business, I mean."

"Erm..."

"Not always, Lutz," Gilbert cut in. "For instance, now." His red eyes made scanned across their corner of the spacious library, which resonated with the low hum of whispers amplified by the high ceiling.

"I wish the rain would just let up," Arthur muttered, fingering his wet strands of hair. Ludwig left to put away the heavy volumes he was carrying, then returned scrolling through something on his phone.

"What's that?" Gilbert asked, peering over his brother's shoulder to get a better view.

"The BBC. It says here that the Duke of _*lost his son. Well...his son ran way. But he refuses to disclose his son's name nor any information," Ludwig said as he skimmed the article. "What a strange man," he continued to speculate, "Wouldn't it be easier to just put a picture on the news? He'll find him in no time."

Gilbert and Arthur exchanged a look, then both shrugged.

"I personally don't understand why he would even tell the public his son ran away if he's not disclosing any details," Gilbert said, leaning back on the chair. "Well, whatever. Rich people will be rich people."

"You're one to talk," Arthur said, addressing both the brothers.

"We're not that rich," Gilbert contemplated, "We're like...medium rich."

"Medium rich is still rich, Gil,"

"Ja, but I mean it's different, though, isn't it? Money like that passed down all the way from generations ago verses money earned the last generation."

"Money is money," Arthur insisted. "Doesn't matter where it comes from, I mean assuming it's legal. It does the same thing for you no matter what. I'm not denying that you need lots of it, but it doesn't matter whether it's passed down or not."

"But money passed down comes with all that prestige, Arthur. Plus, there's usually lots of it anyway, not to mention property."

Just as Arthur opened his mouth to answer, he was interrupted by the ring of his mobile phone, which happened to be an intense guitar solo that burst ostentatiously into the quiet of the library. Arthur almost fell out of his chair, then groped around for the phone in his pocket. Almost everyone turned their heads at them now.

"Hello?"Arthur whispered into the phone angrily.

…

"No, I'm in the library, you git!"

...

"With friends."

...

"Yes, so what?"

A longer pause, then he snapped, "Look, now's not the time to talk about this. I have to go. Bye."

Gilbert eyed Arthur a little suspiciously. Was that the guy he had slept with the previous night? But Arthur only ever had one-night stands if he ever wanted to do 'it.' Why would he give his number to the guy? Gilbert decided not to ask for now. He had too many troubles of his own to worry about.

* * *

1 Un bastardo- you bastard (Italian)

2 The blank is because of the following: The peerage system (titles and whatnot) is really complex, not to mention politically-involved, so I don't want to offend anyone by using an actual duke's title. So, I'm borrowing Jane Austen's handy technique of blanking out places and titles in order to avoid controversy. So here, fill in the blank yourself. Make him any British duke you want to.

* * *

**_Phew! Okay. Anewayz, [insert disclaimer from chapter 1]. And also, once again, I thank The Strawberry for her help and inspiraton. I actually just got off the phone with her xD. And I'd also like to thank another friend, Ev, who's been in full support of this fic. Thanksshhhhh, Ev. haha when you read this be happy. :D REVIEW PLEASE i must know if there are any mistakes I made! And what you thought of this. Next chapter USUK!_**


	4. Chapter 4: His Hesitation

_**Hehe, USUK :) Enjoiii~~~**_

* * *

Crash! Thump. A low groan.

"Gil! The hell…" Arthur heard Antonio's muffled exclamations from below, and rushed out from his office. The front door of the office fed out onto a small balcony, which was elevated by a spiral staircase that connected with the ground floor. Arthur, leaning over the railings, found the silver-haired man collapsed on the ground with a bottle of whiskey in his hand. The sleek, black bar stool was collapsed on its side a short length away, where it rested after Antonio shoved it away with his foot. Apparently, Gilbert had toppled over in his drunken state.

Arthur heaved a great sigh and checked his watch. It was almost 2:00 in the morning. He would have shooed everyone out by now, but he hadn't the heart to force Gil out before he passed out. It had been like this for about three weeks now, and getting worse ever y day. Gilbert used to never touch a drop of alcohol after work. He always came in early, so he would get a glass or two in beforehand, but never afterwards. He was always the one to drive Antonio and Francis (when Francis was not with a girl) home. Until now.

"Is he okay?" Arthur asked from above, rather perturbed.

"_Si_…I think so," was Antonio's hesitant reply. "Well, I won't say he's okay in general. He's been skipping lab time almost every other day, you know."

"What?"

Gilbert may seem like the loose kind of fellow, but he was serious about his studies. Arthur had never met someone so passionate about nuclear fission in his life. The fact that he was skipping half his lab time was definitely indicative of his exceedingly unhealthy state of mind and body.

"I'm afraid so. He's been getting worse each day. And he refuses to eat anything," Antonio sighed. "He is so lucky Francis and I have spare time on our hands."

Arthur came down the staircase and stopped before his two friends, squinting at the fainted man on the floor. His skin was even whiter than his hair, and several shades more translucent. His clean-cut features appeared exhausted, even in his subconscious. Arthur cringed. It wasn't easy seeing Gilbert so wasted. Gilbert, who always had the brains and the looks to plunder through life with a certain kind of smooth flamboyance no one else could imitate.

"That's it. I'm talking to Liz tomorrow. This is going too far. His liver's going to fail by the end of the year." Arthur shook his head.

Antonio nodded in agreement. "I think that will be a good idea. But do you know what happened? All I heard from Gil is that she decided to hate him for some reason and wrote it on his car."

Arthur's thick eyes knitted together into a deep frown. "How can she just _decide _to hate him? I don't understand that. All he told me was that she destroyed his car for no reason. And then called him a…what word was it that they always use…Dummkopf?"

"Yeah, that too. But I'm sure something else happened," Antonio continued to ponder, "Do you remember what he was doing that night? Roderich came in waiting for that Swiss bloke…"

"Ah, yes. Basch. I talked with them for quite some time. He gave Roderich that cocktail with too much Everclear…"

"And then he went out with a girl just at the nick of time. I bet he thought it out all beforehand." Antonio shook his head deploringly.

"Knowing him, probably," Arthur agreed. "But what happened after that? With Liz, I mean. I remember she was asking around for him. She was angry about the cocktail prank. And then she went out to look for him in the back…"

Both of their mouths formed a little "o" shape as they were both struck with sudden realisation. So it was _that_. "Do you think she really…" Arthur began.

"_Si_," Antonio nodded, "That is the only explanation."

For some reason, Arthur felt a little glum at this new development. He had come to notice that Gilbert took especial care to make sure Elizabeta did _not_ see him with a girl. Perhaps he was doing it subconsciously, but he would always disappear and then reappear at the right moment, acting perfectly normal so she would think nothing had happened. Or rather, she could overlook anything that _did_ happen.

"Wait…Roderich is Elizabeta's ex-boyfriend, right?" Antonio asked out of the blue.

"Yes…" Arthur knew exactly where this was going

"Do you think that might have been the reason why he played that joke?"

"Do I _think _it might?" Sarcasm was always Arthur's way to cover up for any stray emotions he failed to keep under control. It worked beautifully. _No, this is wrong. I can't still be this fragile. It's been a whole bloody year!_

He glanced at his watch. It was almost 2:30 am. He groaned, then went to help Antonio lift Gilbert off the ground and carry him into the car. "Did we seriously just spend half an hour analysing the dynamics of Gil and Liz's relationship?"

"I guess so," Antonio shrugged nonchalantly.

"Sometimes I really hate you, mate. No offense or anything," Arthur said as they threw the drunkard into the backseat.

"What? Why?"

"Because you make me gayer than I already am."

"Oh…Why are you so sensitive about your sexuality anyway? I don't understand it."

"It's just…it's abnormal," Arthur muttered. _It's inconvenient, too. Especially for me. _

"Don't say that. There's nothing 'abnormal' about it. As far as I'm concerned, everybody else is abnormal compared to us," Antonio flashed him a light-hearted smile under the glow of the streetlights. Arthur wished he had the energy to smile like that. He wasn't sure that he _ever_ had the energy to smile like that.

"Alright, then. Good night."

He watched as Antonio drove off, soon enveloped by night's embrace. Arthur turned to the pavement and sighed. He was dead tired. It was 2:30 in the morning. He crawled into his Audi and locked himself in the driver's seat. He didn't trust himself to drive all the way back to the apartment with his currently hazy state of mind, so he lowered down the car seat and reclined back into the comfortable leather, plugging in his earphones as he did so.

It was a curious feeling, drifting off to sleep. No matter how many times it happens, you still can't fully understand how it occurs. And that moment right before crossing over to slumber, there's always a thought that dances across one's mind. For Arthur Kirkland, as he laid in his car listening to soft rock with a thin jacket pulled over his shoulders, it was the vague notion that Alfred was not waiting outside the restaurant for him that night.

* * *

It was a cloudy day, a curtain of grey drawn over the wide, arcing expanse above the city of London. The mild breeze was cool against his cheeks as Arthur listlessly headed towards the library. After waking up with a severe backache in the car, he dragged himself home, ate some toast, and, plundered through a whole stack of paperwork, which left him with nothing else on his hands. Then, the problem became that he had no idea what to do with himself. Except for read. He was just in the right mood for rereading _War and Peace_.

Passing a store window, he stopped to gaze at the sleek black suits on display. Then, he realised that he was staring at the new Burberry line. Figures. He quickly shook his head. _No. No more luxury brands. But…No!_ He tore himself away from the store window and hastened away. _If it was like back then…No, no, no…don't think about it…_ He truly didn't know what he was doing anymore. If he thought too much about it, unpleasant memories would all begin to bubble up from the back of his head, so his solution was to ignore all of it.

He was about to cross the street towards the Business School building when he saw her. Standing on the pavement outside the school. The flow of students never got within three feet of her expensive Louis Vuitton dress. The thin, regal woman in her middle age perched aloof but dignified, her light strawberry-blonde hair twined into a complicated but taut hairstyle. Arthur would recognise her anywhere.

_Bloody hell, what's she doing here? _

He quickly ducked behind a row of parked cars on his side of the street and peered at her through the car windows. She was quite evidently looking for something. Or someone. Was she lost?

"Bloody hell..." Arthur mumbled under his breath. He had to get out of here. And fast.

"Hey...Arthur...why are you hiding?"

Arthur jumped a foot in the air, barely missing his head on the rear view mirror sticking out the side of the car, and swore. It was Alfred, appearing at exactly the wrong time. The young American was staring down at him with lively, curious eyes, a black, complex video camera around his neck and hands on his hips. Arthur couldn't stand the innocent expression on that charming face of his. _Don't look at me like that…it should be made illegal…!_

Arthur heaved an exasperated sigh. "Get down!" he growled, and pulled Alfred down with him by the sleeve.

"Hey...why are we doing this?" Alfred whispered, leaning unnecessarily close, his hot breath on Arthur's cheek.

"Don't sound so gleeful, you git. Just…you see her?"—he pointed to the figure across the street, who was still glancing around with a bored expression on her face—, "That woman across the street. We're trying to get away from her without being seen." _When it did it become 'we' anyway? I need to stop getting myself mixed up in disadvantageous situations like this…_

"Why?"

Arthur had known that question was coming.

"Because…Because, because, because…she will do bad things. _Very_ bad things." It was an awful excuse. But he had always been a horrible liar. He would always get too edgy and start tripping over his words in irritation. It was ironic how the words that flowed out his tongue so melodiously always betrayed him at just the wrong moment.

Alfred frowned, a funny expression on his face. He was unsuccessfully trying to hold back his laughter. "I'm not in third grade, you know," he snorted. "But you _are_ adorable, so I forgive you."

"Sh-shut up, you git! This is serious!" Arthur stammered, turning his head away so Alfred wouldn't see the scarlet shade heating up his face. He gave himself a mental slap for falling prey to sweet words too easily. This was _Alfred_. The bartender at his own specially-designed restaurant for hooking said 'prey.' He was falling for his own creation. This was too ironic it was cruel.

"So what's the _real_ reason—"

"Shshshshsh!" Arthur cut him off. He squinted through the two layers of car window at the woman. A grey-haired man, in his late fifties and wearing a beige, old-fashioned suit, had approached her with a pleasant smile on his face. The two seemed actively engaged in a conversation, the woman with twinge of urgency in her countenance. _Professor Briggs? What's he…oh, no…this can't be…_He suddenly experienced the very real feeling of spiralling downwards that one always read about in novels. Except he was rudely pulled back out by Alfred's voice.

"Hey, they're gone, man. I think we're safe. Whatever that's supposed to mean." They were indeed gone, gone into the school building. Alfred stood up and stretched his legs. Only then did Arthur realise that it must've been quite difficult for the American to have bent down so low. He was maybe only half an inch taller than Arthur, but infinitely more muscular.

"So, where do you want to go?" Alfred flashed him a bright, sunny smile. Arthur blinked, forgetting that the sky was grey and cloudy.

"Don't you have classes?" Arthur asked after a pause in which he marvelled at Alfred's perfect teeth.

"Oh, morning classes. Worst professor ever," he laughed. "Come on, we'll take a walk. It's London, after all."

_Morning classes, huh…_It abruptly occurred to Arthur that the younger man probably didn't have much of a ball waking up each morning. _And yet he insists on stalking me until a cab or my car every night…_Arthur felt rather guilty for treating him so harshly before.

* * *

They sauntered along, loitering around street corners and red brick buildings as Alfred recorded this and that. Eventually, they found themselves meandering about in Kensington Gardens, stopping at the golden memorial of Prince Albert*, then at oddly-shaped trees that happened to be planted alongside the paved trail. Arthur had never paid so much attention to the shapes of trees before.

Meanwhile, Arthur discovered that Alfred, his stalker for something like a year now, was way more than the slick but sometimes-whiney guy that met the eye. He was that pure-minded type of boy that Arthur supposed only America could produce, with carefree laughter and the entire world before him to conquer. He loved Hollywood, perhaps to an unhealthy degree, but disliked French films because they were too slow, though he had little to argue against their artistic value. He was also good at sports, it seemed, one of his favourites being 'football*' (though Arthur disliked the term very much), and he enjoyed eight-hour long sessions of Call of Duty. He was the epitome of happy and normal. Everything Arthur was not.

"Books?" Arthur inquired tentatively.

"Uh…" was Alfred's response.

Arthur raised a golden eyebrow at the drop in his expression.

"I…don't get literature. I mean, I _get _it _kind of_, but…there's just easier ways to tell a story! Like that guy Dickens! His sentences run like a page long, man. What's up with that?"

"If you study film, you should really know your literature," Arthur scoffed. "And Dickensian writing is classic. Classic literature is _classic_ for a reason."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. But it's too long-winded…" he muttered. Arthur muffled a laugh.

"…You like action films, right?"

A resounding yes.

"Try something like _The Count of Monte Cristo_. That might be a little easier. It's about a man who wants to get revenge."

"...You've read a lot of books, haven't you, Arthur?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes. There used to be a huge library in…" Arthur stopped mid-sentence. _Damn! I lost track of myself...to think I was about to say "there used to be a huge library in my house!" That sort of slip-up would be ridiculous! _

"In?"

"In the…uh…neighbourhood." He cleared his throat.

"There was a library in your neighbourhood?"

"No! No, I mean there was a library _close _to the neighbourhood."

"…I see." But Arthur knew that Alfred was casting him doubtful sideways glances. Arthur berated himself for letting his guard down. He knew that attractive men were his weakness. Why did he have to walk right into a trap anyway?

They were silent for a while. Arthur pretended to watch the movement of bleak, greyish clouds in the sky. The weak sunlight leaked through the cracks slightly, but was soon concealed by another layer of clouds.

"Hey...Arthur? Who was that woman back there anyway..." Alfred finally asked. Arthur could tell that he had been waiting to ask this question the whole time.

Arthur gulped. He had no choice but to tell him. There was no point wasting his breath on petty lies he couldn't cover up for. Furthermore, he didn't know _how_ to lie to Alfred. The American had one of those faces that you couldn't bring yourself to deceive, for fear of the look of betrayal he would wear if he ever found out the truth.

"My...my mother..."

"...Really?" he exclaimed. Some birds nearby took off in fright.

"No, actually she's my little sister. Yes! What would be the point of lying to you? You don't have to sound so surprised about everything, you know."

"No, it's just that...I didn't expect that at all! How young was she when she got married? Or were you born out of wedlock?" Alfred gave him a playful nudge.

"No! That's preposterous!" Shivers ran down Arthur's spine at the very idea. It disgusted him.

"Hey, chill, man. I'm just joking. You gotta relax, Arthur, or you'll get frown lines on that pretty face of yours," Alfred chuckled.

Arthur grumbled something unintelligible under his breath, then said, "It's funny you think she looks young. She always complains that she looks old...she's 50 in a week, by the way. But she tells everyone she's 45."

"Fifty? Are you serious? I thought she was at most 40..."

"Really? I always thought she was an old hag..."

Alfred frowned. "That's not something you say about your mother..."

"Yeah, well...dysfunctional family..." Arthur muttered. Why was he telling _him_ all of _this_? It had nothing to do with him at all! He barely knew the bloke, let alone could trust him.

"I see. I can't say I can relate, then."

"...What's your family like?"

"Uh...normal? I don't know. Happy? I guess?" Alfred shrugged. He seemed like he had never thought about it before. The typical guy who took things for granted.  
"I envy you," Arthur said, raising his head to the dreary sky. The air smelled like rain.

"...Got any siblings?" Alfred asked.

"...No. Just me. How about you?"

"One brother. Matthew. He's my younger twin but...he's nothing like me."

"Ha. Reminds me of the Vargas brothers. And the Beilschmidts. I thought brothers were supposed to be similar." Arthur knew little about brotherhood. And as of a few years ago, he really began wishing he did.

"Yes...and no. I mean...Mattie and I, we both like the same foods and the same sports and the last time I checked, we both champion peace and democracy. It's that kind of thing that remains the same when you grow up in the same family. But personality is whole other thing altogether. I mean, different people react to different environments differently. I guess that's one argument you can make. And plus, a lot of it is just something you're born with. Like Mattie's a quiet kind of guy, and I can't help that I'm such a big blab and annoy you all the time."

"You don't annoy me," Arthur blurted, then quickly added, "Not all of the time..."

Alfred didn't respond immediately, but simply gawked at him with a huge grin on his face. Arthur fidgeted a little uncomfortably and turned his head away. He felt stupid as his face began to heat up. "S-Stop it! What are you trying to do, huh? Stare a hole through my head?" he retorted with as much indignity as he could muster.

Suddenly, Alfred burst into laughter. Laughter that seemed to resound in all directions, sending flocks of birds flying into the sky. "Ahaha!" He abruptly seized the Briton tightly in his arms into a choking embrace.

"Hey! What're you doing! Let go, people will see!" Arthur struggled against him, but it was no use. It seemed as if whatever strength he exerted into pushing him away, it only rebounded back twofold. He sighed, and could only succumb to the hug. "Alright, alright...though I still don't see why you're so excited."

"No, it's just that...I'm so happy you don't hate me." Arthur's eyes widened at this innocent declaration. _He...all of this...even though he thought I hated him the entire time..._Slowly, he put a grudging arm around the larger man's waist. Arthur noted that Alfred's entire body was radiating enough heat to power an oven. _I wonder if chemical reactions in his body occur at twice the speed of a normal human being or something..._

"Jesus, you're just like a huge puppy," Arthur said, feigning a caustic tone. He was, in actuality, quite flustered at the moment.

Alfred pulled away, then leaned in close again, the tips of their noses almost touching. The colour of his eyes seemed to grow deep, like the water above an ocean trench, a bottomless crevasse in the crack of the sea floor. "I can be something _else_, too, you know," he whispered in a low and—there was no other word to describe it—seductive voice.

Arthur gulped. His throat felt dry as the Sahara. He stared dumbly, blinked, then took a big step back. "No! No, no, no!" He turned on his heel and stomped off in the opposite direction. _No, no, no, no, no! I will _not_ be seduced like some loves-struck maiden!_

"Oh, come on! Artie! At least gimme _something_!" he heard the Alfred shout after him. The American caught his wrist and gave him a defeated smile. "Ok, ok. I'll stop. Just...c'mon." He pulled him along the paved path, a gentle grip on his wrist but never forceful. Alfred was always careful towards him. Perhaps not always gentle or particularly aware of his surroundings, but careful in an unexplainable way. It was different from what Arthur was used to, but he liked it.

* * *

"So, what can I get for you?" Alfred beamed.

"What do you recommend?" The smoky-eyed brunette leaned forward in her seat, eyeing him like she wanted to gobble him up. She had nice curves, but a little bit too much eye shadow. Alfred could tell that she was a few years older than him, the crafty type. The kind that liked to play with her men. He knew exactly how to deal with her. He poured two cocktails, each with a little Everclear, and slid it over the counter. "Try these."

She downed both of them relatively quickly.

"I'd say...you look like you really know how to drink, so why don't I make you a custom?" A custom cocktail, which allowed the bartenders to let their imagination run wild, was also the most expensive. The trick was to get her mildly woozy, then drain her wallet. Most customers like her only come once, so it was ok to do a 'hit-and-run,' as Gilbert called it.

"Why not?" she shrugged, with an alluring smile.

He smiled back, feigning oblivion. _That's right, two can play at this game..._

As he poured the contents, he peered over at Gilbert who was talking up three blondes a few seats away. Smooth, as usual. But were it not for the dim lighting, the dark circles under his eyes would show through. Gil hadn't been doing so well these past few weeks. God knew why. Alfred only knew that it probably had something to do with Elizabeta. Recently, Liz had only come over to the bar when she was sure Gil wasn't there. Every time, she would glare daggers at the girls as she chatted half-heartedly with Alfred. Who knew that the great Gilbert Beilschmidt would have such mundane girl troubles?

"Here you go." Alfred set the glass in front of her.

"Hey! Al! Over here!" a raven-haired girl called from two seats over. He slid over and flashed her a full-fledged grin. "Hello, there. You've been coming here quite often." He was sure that she'd tried to get him to sleep with her only a few days ago. What was her name again?

Gilbert brushed past behind him and whispered in his ear, "Penelope." Alfred gave him a thumbs-up behind his back in thanks, all the while never breaking eye contact with her.

"So, Penelope," he began. "How are you?"

His mind was never fully there when he talked to these girls. He was always thinking about Arthur. Always stealing upwards glances towards the balcony outside his office. Arthur was never there.

"Another one, please," the brunette called again from his left, laying down money on the table. Alfred waved, and made her another cocktail, setting it down in front of her.

"Hey, your name is Alfred, right?" she asked.

"Yes. And you?" he asked, raising one eyebrow. She was only slightly affected by the alcohol.

"Vanessa," she answered with a coy smile curled upon her dark lipstick. "You're American."

"Yeah. Came here for school."

"I heard Americans aren't half bad in bed. Especially with your looks, I'm assuming you have quite some experience."

"I won't brag," he laughed, "But I do have some experience." He was intrigued by her clever boldness.

"So, do you go to Imperial?"

"No. But a lot of the staff here do."

"I see..."

They carried on for some time, until she said she had something to do and left. Alfred didn't know what it was about her, but she seemed different from the girls who usually came here. She wasn't here to get drunk, that was obvious, and she had a meaningful sparkle in her dark eyes when she spoke. Though she dressed like a slut, her appearance was still very neat and tidy.

"Hey, who was that sexy woman you were talking to?" Gilbert strolled past with a sly smile on his lips.

"Vanessa." Alfred shrugged. "Doubt we'll ever see her again."

"Why didn't you shag her? I bet she'll give you a good time."

"Why would I?"

"Because she's hot."

"Gil, I think sometimes you take your playboy attitude a little too far."

"Relax. Don't get so worked up about something trivial like that. You'll turn into Eliza." He failed to conceal the resent that bubbled up beneath that easygoing smile at the thought of Elizabeta.

"Maybe there's a reason she hates you, you know," Alfred rolled his eyes. _If you like her, then just say! What kind of an idiot just lets the problem sit? You'll just end up losing her!_

To his mild surprise, Gil didn't say anything. Instead he finished pouring a glass of scotch and slid it to a girl down the counter. He patted Alfred on the back, muttering he'll be back in a few minutes.

"Hey! Where are you going, man?" Alfred shouted after him, nonplussed. Gil barely ever left his station at the bar.

"Kitchen! I'm getting Francis."

Getting Francis? Was he really that tired? Alfred was sure that in his one year here, he had never seen Gilbert go anywhere near the kitchen. He must really have been exhausted. Sure enough, a few moments later, he came back with the French man on his heel. All the girls around the bar turned their heads and began to whisper excitedly amongst themselves.

"Excuse me, ladies. Unfortunately, I cannot be with you the rest of our time, but do enjoy yourselves," Gilbert said with an enticing smile, then left the counter.

Everyone's attention was immediately directed towards Francis. He was only ever here for a few minutes every night, so it was a rare opportunity.

Alfred heaved a long sigh. That's a little weight off his shoulders for now. After walking away the entire afternoon with Arthur, he was too distracted to properly woo anybody. He kept thinking about him. The way his faultless features worked together so wondrously to wear that flustered embarrassment on his face. A subtle curl of the lip, or an inward movement of the head. Arthur was much less cold towards himself than Alfred had previously expected, and it felt as if he was so close to cracking that icy indifference.

"Hey, Al. What's Francis doing here?" Elizabeta came up to him with a slight frown.

"Uh...Oh, right," he was dragged out of his train of thought, "Gil had something to do or something. So Francis is filling in."

"Tch." Liz scowled at the scene before her disapprovingly. "I don't understand the three of you. It's obvious none of these girls actually care for you personally. If they can switch from one bloke to the next so easily just because they both have a nice face..." She shook her head in frustration.

Alfred pondered the subject for a short while, then said, "No, Liz. I think there actually are _some _sincere ones. You know...your, um, friend, Roderich..."

"Yeah? What about him?"

"His friend Basch, the Swiss guy. His little sister Lili is here a lot. I don't know if you've noticed her but...she's kind of little. Delicate looking? Short blonde hair, cute face? Kinda like a faerie in my opinion."

"Oh, her? She's Basch's sister? I never would've guessed. Basch is rather...hostile. I've always wondered why she was here. She really doesn't look like the type-"

"She's here for Gil, Liz," Alfred cut in, a sympathetic expression on his face.

"...W-What?"

"She's head over heels for him. No joke. I talked to her that night with the...uh, incident."

"...I see..." Liz seemed glum. Perhaps she had finally realised that it was in fact quite possible for Gilbert to be taken right under her nose. Whatever the case, Ludwig soon came over to shoo her back to her station.

By this time, Antonio and Feliciano had already come back in, which meant that Ludwig's job became twice as complicated. Both the Spaniard and the Italian were very liable to sit down with their customers and have a long, friendly conversation. Unfortunately, they didn't understand the articulate dexterity of flirting, thus failing to notice when someone was hinting at_ that _kind of a relationship. Arthur had secretly instructed (secret to Antonio and Feliciano) Ludwig to keep their hands full, which gave Bella and Liz more opportunities to slack off a little from their jobs. As he expected, after about twenty minutes, Elizabeta made a clever swerve around the tables and headed back over, a tray full of empty plates and cups in her hand.

"I haven't seen her around recently. Lili, I mean," Liz said.

Alfred chuckled a little. "I told her that she could find somebody better than Gil. I hope that's why she stopped coming."

Elizabeta didn't say anything, but stared at the liquor-filled shelf behind Alfred's head with blank, empty green eyes. They were a different green than Arthur's, thought Alfred. They were strong, but not so picturesque or eloquent. It was amazing how much one could tell just by looking at someone's eyes. Their happiness, hatred, and everything in between. Their life was in their eyes.

"Personally, I don't understand him," Alfred continued, attempting to comfort her, "Gil's the type that's got everything. The looks, the brains, the money. His life's so perfect that _I'm_ jealous. Why does he have to mess it up with all the alcohol and women?"

But to his surprise, her response was a clear and distinct, "No." Alfred fixed her with a sceptical gaze. "You're wrong. His father died when he was five. From a gas explosion. Accident with the stove."

"Oh...Sorry, I didn't know..."

"No, it's okay. Gil never talks about it anyway. As far as I know, he's only ever told the three idiots who roomed with him."

"Wow...you two go way back, don't you?"

"...Yeah...I moved to Berlin from Budapest when I was nine. We lived right across the street from the Beilschmidts. The boy with the white hair and red eyes..." She smiled a little sadly, "Everyone thought he was strange. I remember some superstitious old people used to claim he was a demon child. But he never cared. Just kept on pulling pranks. It wasn't until secondary school that people began to notice his extreme academic capacity. And of course the girls fell in love one by one. He and his brother were a cut above the rest. I remember being so envious of him." She laughed, then waved as she turned towards the kitchen carrying the tray. Alfred reckoned she probably just needed to vent a little. _But looking at Gil, I never would've guessed..._

For the remaining half hour, Alfred joined Francis's side and the two successfully advertised the most expensive drinks they offered. It was decided between the two that they were definitely asking Arthur for a bonus.

After they finally threw out every remaining bachelor and bachelorette, Alfred glimpsed Arthur talking with Elizabeta below the spiral stairs, the one place in the entire restaurant where the top of the balcony could _not_ be seen. He snickered to himself, and carefully snuck up the staircase, being careful not to make any noise, and slipped inside Arthur's office.

He had never been in Arthur's office before. The room was bigger than he had imagined, consisting of two bookshelves on either side, packed tightly with thick volumes and some porcelain vases. The desk had a simple, modern design, with a glass surface and black, polished wood underneath. On top sat two neat stacks of paperwork and a laptop. There was also a cup of tea sitting on the desk, next to some pens and pencils. Alfred caught himself with a silly grin on his face as he examined the room. The smart, orderly style, somewhat old-fashioned but modern in certain aspects. The potted plants on his shelf, the abstract porcelain statue. All his little habits. Alfred laughed and sank into the swivelling leather, office chair, spinning around a few times just for the thrill. Then, he took a piece of blank computer paper from the printer and began to doodle.

"What in the name of- _Alfred!" _Alfred's head snapped up at Arthur's infuriated bellow. He glanced at his watch. Already 1:49? Everyone else must be gone by now.

"What do you think you're doing? Barging into my office! I could bloody fire you, you know that? I'm your boss!" The angry Briton stomped over and picked up a pen to throw at Alfred, who automatically dodged and scuttled to the other side of the room.

"Hey, chill! I didn't do anything, I swear! Didn't go through your files or anything!"

"...you insolent..."

"Arthur!" He was almost stabbed by a very sharp pencil. Arthur continued to force him into a corner with flying office projectiles as the he approached.

"...No respect whatsoever for privacy..."

"Arthur-"

"...incredibly rude..."

Seized by an impulsive notion, he pulled Arthur in by the tie and pressed their lips together. He soon lost all self-control and yanked him even closer, wrapping his hands around the other's trim waist. All he knew was that Arthur tasted faintly of tea.

When Arthur finally pushed him away, both were gasping for their breaths. "W-What was that for, you git?" Arthur spluttered, incensed. But he could not hide the fact that he was turning red from ear to ear.

Alfred grabbed his arms and spun him around, pushing him against the wall. "You underestimate me," he said in a low tone.

"What are you talking about? Let me go! _Now!"_ But Arthur could not push him off no matter how hard he tried. Alfred was way too strong.

"I told you. I am in love with you. And yet you allow yourself to be so careless around me. Do you know how hard it is to control myself?" Perhaps it sounded more threatening than he had intended, but he didn't care as long as he was sure Arthur was gaping at him, looking completely infatuated.

The Briton stared at him speechlessly, with wide, green eyes. Alfred kissed him again, more fiercely this time, pressing their bodies together tightly as he stole his tongue inside Arthur's mouth.

Arthur broke the kiss, breathing hard. "Not here..." he mumbled, turning his head to the side. Alfred noticed that he always looked away when he was overwhelmed.

"Then where? Your pick," Alfred smiled, running his hand along Arthur's side.

"Hotel...and it better not be like last time!"

"What do you mean?"

"I couldn't walk straight for a whole bloody week!"

"Okay, okay..."

* * *

An electric guitar suddenly blasted in his ear. Alfred groaned groggily as he rolled over, rudely awakened from a very nice dream he was having. He checked his watch. It was nine o'clock in the morning.

"Sorry...! That's mine..." Arthur swiped his mobile off the bedside table. "Hello?" He cleared his throat a little.

Alfred didn't know who it was, but he was pissed. Whoever it was, he or she had horrible timing.

...

"Oh! Um, hey, Gil. You're awake." _Gilbert, you royal asshole..._

...

"Uh...sure. Give me ten minutes..." _Oh, no..._

...

"...You're welcome?" Arthur hung up.

As soon as he set the phone down, Arthur jumped out of bed and began to rummage around for clothes on the floor. He pulled on his jeans and T-shirt, slipped the phone into his pocket, ready to walk out the door. Alfred, who had been watching with building rage Arthur was apparently oblivious to, flared, "Hey, where are you going?"

"Out. Meeting Gil on campus."

"What do you mean, you're just going to walk out on me?"

"Can't you take yourself home? I don't have an obligation to take care of you, you know."

"That's _not _what I meant!"

"Then, dress yourself and walk home. Or call a cab. I'll cover hotel expenses." Arthur checked his pockets to make sure that keys and wallet were all there, then strode straight out the door, without so much as a glance backwards.

* * *

_That wanker...that wanker! I can't believe we did it again! It's too dangerous! Ugh, this is horrible! I feel guilty for leaving him! He deserves it...he deserves it for forcing me...!_

"Bloody...!" The reflection of himself in the rear view mirror almost gave him a heart attack. His neck was covered in purplish green bruises, and if he squinted very carefully, there were bruises seeping through his white shirt. _...Ugh...that git! I told him not to overdo it! He's like a territorial beast! _Then, he shook his head violently to rid himself of the grossly incorrect thought that he was Alfred's territory.

There was no way he could go see Gil looking like a huge neon sign saying 'I just had mad sex last night,' (Gil would fall over laughing) much less walk around with it.

Alright, alright, think...a scarf would be weird with this warm weather...bandana! Ok, if I take off the blazer...I just have to hope no one sees through the shirt...

He started the Audi and stepped on the gas, speeding down Knightsbridge at he-didn't-know-how-much-over-the-speed-limit* kilometres per hour. Screeching to a stop beside a clothing store, he ran in, grabbed a the first bandana he saw that wasn't hideous, paid for it, and ran out leaving the store clerk giving him odd stares from behind.

After taking a huge roundabout loop, he finally pulled up at Princes Gardens. Arthur spotted the familiar figure sitting in the grass, observing birds. Gilbert had always liked birds. It seemed out of character, but he told Arthur once before that it was because he was fascinated by their ancestry*.

Arthur shouted to him and waved. Gilbert jogged over as Arthur got out of his car, the silvery white head bobbing closer and closer from a distance.

They walked and chatted, like they used to all the time when they were undergraduates. Only now did Arthur realise how much he really missed it. It and Gilbert himself. Gil, on the other hand, was preoccupied, with Arthur knew exactly what, but once they started on the timeless topics of politics and economics, there was no stopping. Gil was the intuitive sort, who seemed to always have the right gut feelings about this politician and that multi-million company. Arthur always felt that it was a pity Gil didn't want to go into business and trade. For a man who spoke three languages and whose family owned an auto parts manufacturing company that raked in the cash like mad, it seemed an immense shame. But Gilbert was stubbornly set against the idea of taking over the company with his brother. He said he would ruin his old man's hard work in a single stroke of bad investment.

It started to rain soon, so they retreated inside the library to wait it out. At that point, all Arthur could do was pray that people couldn't see through his shirt. Meanwhile, they bumped into Ludwig, talked for a while, then left for lunch. The rain had stopped and the clouds were gradually scattering.

It was then, as they sat in the park with a sandwich in each of their hands, that Arthur finally had the opportunity to tell his friend what he'd been wanting to the whole time. "Erm...Gil. I saw my mother yesterday. She was here."

The sandwich stopped halfway to Gilbert's mouth. "What? You should've told me sooner!"

"I'm sorry! I didn't get the opportunity. There were people around!"

"If by people, you mean birds and squirrels! Okay, never mind that, why was she here?"

"I don't know! You know Briggs right?"

"The old man with the beard? The marketing professor?

"Yes, that one."

"Doesn't he think you're a genius?"

"Yes, that one," Arthur repeated scornfully, then continued, "She was standing outside the Business School and then Briggs came out to greet her. They went in together."

Gilbert's silver eyebrows pressed down on his smooth forehead. "That's strange. There's no way she could have..."

"Yes, there is." Arthur began to nervously tap his fingers on the ground.

"What do you mean? We spent all that time-"

"Yes, but the Hub doesn't exactly help me keep a low profile, does it?"

"You're barely ever outside your office!"

"I know, but when I am, I'm not that hard to distinguish, you know. Ugh, I knew it, I should've shaved my eyebrows..."

"No! No!" Gilbert clamped his hands over Arthur's forehead forcefully. "If you do that, I won't even be able to recognise you!" he insisted.

Arthur rolled his eyes and pushed the Gilbert's hands away, hoping that Gil wouldn't notice he was blushing slightly. "Let go, Gil. You're being awkward."

"Fine, I'll keep my ears open on-campus for you."

"Thank you," Arthur uttered gratefully. A short pause.

"So...who was that bloke you slept with?"

Arthur could feel the root of his ears heating up. He looked away, pretending to study the trunk of the tree they were sitting under. "T-There's no one!"

Gilbert then subsequently broke into a fit of laughter that made him fall over on the grass. "Shut up! You git! I said shut up!" Arthur reached over and pinched Gilbert's nose. Hard.

"_Ooowww!"_

"I told you to shut up."

"Fine, fine...but I'm just saying," Gilbert grinned deviously, "You're quite the horny bastard."

"You're one to talk," Arthur growled back.

"Alright, alright. Well, I have to go. I have lab duty today," he stood up and gave the disgruntled Briton a pat on the back. "But give me a call if you change your mind about telling me who this bloke is." And he scurried off as Arthur shouted a string of creative profanity after him. His silver head soon disappeared behind the school building. Arthur let out a long sigh and leaned back against the tree, blowing listlessly at his own strands of hair. Gil was gone. He felt inexplicably lonelier than before. It was so easy to get sucked into Gilbert Beilschmidt's rasping laughter and mischievous grin. Too easy. But right now...he wondered where Alfred was. _Was he still mad? Will he be the same as always? Will he not smile at me?_ _It would be a pity if he didn't... _

"What...exactly..."

Arthur snapped to attention at the voice only a breadth away. He didn't recognise it at first, only thinking it was vaguely familiar. He raised his head to find a pair of intensely blue and injured eyes gazing down at him reproachfully. Alfred? Was that really his voice? He was always so upbeat, Arthur didn't know how he sounded otherwise. Arthur suddenly felt a pang shoot through his chest. _Had he been here the whole time? How did he find me? I thought that after that phone call when we were in the library, he would just give up..._

He sprang to his feet and tried to rearrange his messy hair in frenzy. "Al! What're you doing here?"

"What exactly is your relationship with him?" Alfred seethed.

"Huh?"

"Gilbert! What is he to you?"

And it finally struck him. "No! No, Gil's just my mate."

"Really? Because I talk to him at the bar everyday and he knows _everything _about you! More than Francis or Antonio! He knows your schedule for each frikin' semester of college!" Alfred looked like he had finally let out something he had kept inside for a very long time.

Arthur's eyes widened, mouth hanging ajar. "You asked him for my university schedules?"

Alfred gritted his teeth, "No. I asked him what kinds of classes you take."

"Oh...well, he knows Antonio's and Francis's too. He has a memory like that."

"But this morning. This morning you left just because of him! I've seen you two together. You can't keep your eyes off of him!"

Arthur was immediately furious. _How dare he accuse me like that? He doesn't know anything! _Arthur no longer cared if people could hear him. "You're being ridiculous! I left because he's my best friend and he asked me to come! Plus, he's straight, so the idea is even more absurd!"

"Oh. So _that's_ what it is! He's _straight_, so I'm your second choice! Is that it?"

"No! Stop it, you're being over-dramatic! You know what? I don't need to explain myself to you! You forced me into it! I told you 'one night' but you wouldn't bloody listen!"

Arthur's scream resonated through the trees and bushes. The birds were silent, too frightened to sing a peep. Only the artificial sounds of the city reached their ears from somewhere very far away. After a long silence-

"Okay, then. I'm sorry. I just thought that if I tried really hard then you would give me a chance. But apparently, I'm not worth even that." Just like that, Alfred turned his back and walked stiffly away, kicking over the dustbin beside the street in anger as he passed.

* * *

1 Prince Albert of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha, later the husband of Queen Victoria of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland (26 August 1819 – 14 December 1861) was The Prince Consort of the British Empire and an innovator/reformer, which makes him cool enough to receive a golden statue.

2 Here referring to American football.

3 I need to add this here for educational purposes: Listen children, Arthur is being a very bad boy. Do _not_ drive over the speed limit, especially in the city.

4 Ancestry of birds- birdies evolved from dinosaurs.

* * *

_**[Insert disclaimer from Chapter 1] and ALSO i must put a DIRE warning: This is only the BEGINNING of illegal/questionably moral things they do. This is essentially a story about smart but stupid ppl. So if you're smart like Arthur and Gilbert, don't be stupid like Arthur and Gilbert. Okay? xD Also, please don't be offended if the story refers to any element of your culture in a way you don't like (like Arthur with American football). I write from a biased POV based on my interpretation of each character, so it doesn't always translate into MY views. Anewayz, lots of thanks for The Strawberry once again. Next chapter is Pruhun, but it will be the last chapter to follow in the alternating order. REVIEW to point out my stupid mistakes i've been known to butcher foreign languages. Hehe. *awkward laugh***_


	5. Chapter 5: His Obscurity

_**Chapter five! Remember, this is the last chapter that goes in PruHun-USUK alternating order. So after this, it's all mixed up! I'll write a note in the beginning of each chapter summarising the amount of each pairing in the chapter. And since I just made that promise, this chapter has a lot of Spamano (and of course PruHun)**_

* * *

It was mid-afternoon when Elizabeta arrived at the apartments on Winstanley. The buildings were geometric and rectangular, a few stories high, marked by square glass windows that designated each individual room. They were a collection of studio pads where graduate students usually housed. For Ludwig Beilschmidt, who utterly despised having to share rooms with people less superhumanly clean as him, moved here at his first chance. Elizabeta searched for Ludwig's room and eventually found it in the corner of the fifth floor. She had only been here once before, and that time...Gilbert was with her.

As she stood there waiting for an answer to the doorbell, she couldn't help but wonder where Gilbert was at the moment. Since _that_ night, it had been exactly three and a half weeks. Only a few days ago, she realised she was in love with him, but she had no idea what to do after that. She had tried to catch him alone before, during, and after work, but he was deliberately avoiding her. He wouldn't pick up her calls and, instead of coming in early and leaving late, he had stopped his drinking, come later, and left earlier. She her mind, knew that it was impossible he would be so infuriated over such a trivial matter. Gil had always been easygoing and a supremely loyal friend. But in her heart, she couldn't be sure. She had to know for sure.

Click. The door swung open to Ludwig's handsome, clean-cut features and neat, combed-back hair. Elizabeta had long since noticed that his physical traits were similar to Gilbert's in some places, but exhibited on Ludwig's face, they lacked the vivacity Gilbert lived and breathed. Instead, it took on Ludwig's own taciturn graveness.

"Hallo, Eliza." He stepped aside for her to come in. She slipped past him into the flat.

"I just brought this over. You left it in the cab when you got off yesterday." She handed him his cagoule as she surveyed the room. It was simple, with clean white walls, neatly arranged bookshelves, a desk consisting of filed documents and a laptop, a small sitting area with some armchairs and a tea table, and a single-person bed pushed up against the wall. There wasn't even a television set. Elizabeta abruptly felt as if she needed to clean herself up.

"_Danke_." He took it and hung it up in a closet with its contents flawlessly colour-coded. Elizabeta never understood how Ludwig and Gilbert could have lived in the same household. Gil wasn't messy or extravagant, but he certainly couldn't stand Ludwig's simplicity. Gil liked to do everything with unique (and sometimes outlandish) style.

"So, how is everything?" she asked as she studied the small kitchen.

"Fine. It's just rather inconvenient when students come back during the middle of the night. I already come back quite late, so I don't understand why anyone would come in even later," he sighed. "Would you like tea?"

"No, thanks. I have to leave soon. Antonio said he wanted to see me about something."

Ludwig's forehead puckered a little. "About what? He doesn't have a care in the world." Elizabeta laughed a little. It was true. Antonio rarely ever wanted to see anybody about anything other than relaxing.

"I don't know, actually. I was thinking the exact same thing."

"So, how did you like the concert?" Ludwig sat down opposite her with a cup of tea in his hands. He had a grave expression, like usual, but having known him for so long, Elizabeta didn't expect anything more.

"Roderich was brilliant," she smiled. "I'm thinking of mailing over some things for him to sign so if he gets really famous, I'll sell it and get rich."

The corner of Ludwig's mouth lifted slightly, a breach of his reticence. "That's not a bad idea."

"You think so? It was Bella's idea originally. Maybe I should really do it." Elizabeta imagined the scowl on Roderich's face if he would receive a whole package of items to sign and laughed.

Then, she stood up and paced to the window, gazing out at the spread of Greater London before her. It seemed so peaceful from behind these clean, white walls. "Don't you ever get lonely around here?"

"Oh, no. I personally think I live too close to my brother. He has this nasty habit of-"

Bang, bang, bang, bang. The noise wracked the whole room. Elizabeta felt the wooden planks shake under her feet.

"Lutz! Lutz!"

"I have a doorbell, you know," Ludwig shouted back, irked.

"Well, it's too small! I don't have the time to find it!"

Elizabeta's eyes grew round at the familiar rasp that vibrated in from behind the door. Ludwig shook his head in aggravation, then stalked over and flung the door open. Elizabeta craned her neck to see over Ludwig who was blocking the doorway almost completely with his broad shoulders and great height. She glimpsed Gilbert, whose sterling-coloured hair was dripping with sweat, along with the rest of him, face pumped red with physical exertion. He was in a pair of running shorts and a black, sleeveless singlet, with an MP3 player strapped to his bicep. He also had a black, nylon rucksack slung over one shoulder. She hurriedly averted her eyes, ashamed of the lewd thoughts that invaded her mind.

"Hey, Lutz. Can I borrow your bath?" Elizabeta could hear the awkward grin in his voice.

"Why would you run here?" Ludwig bellowed.

"I didn't! I drove here, and it was early, so I went for a run. See? Got clean clothes and everything," Gil answered matter-of-factly. Ludwig heaved an exasperated sigh, then gestured to the bathroom in the far corner of the room.

"_Danke_, Lutz."

To Elizabeta's great embarrassment, Gilbert started peeling off his soaked top as he entered the room. Then, his eyes landed on her. And he pulled it back down frantically. He stared at her with wide, red eyes, startled at her unexpected appearance.

She stood up a little uneasily. "Hi, Gil."

"Uh...hallo, Eliza...sorry, I didn't mean to intrude on anything...?" His sentence trailed off questioningly.

"No! No, that's not it. I was just here to bring his...ah...cagoule over. He left it. In the cab. Yesterday." Her thoughts came out in awkward, discombobulated little bits.

"Ah...I see...Well, then, excuse me..." He slunk towards the bathroom as discreetly as possible.

"Uh...Gil?"

"Yeah?" He jolted around immediately to face her.

"Can you...give me a ride to LISPA after this? I'm too lazy to take public transportation," she said, gradually repossessing her steadiness.

"Oh." He frowned. "You're going there, too? Okay, then." He shrugged and went inside the bathroom, slamming the door close behind him.

Ludwig raised a sceptical eyebrow at her after he finished assessing the scene that played out before him and sat down across from her. "What is with you two these days?"

"N-Nothing...well, it was my fault..."

"I highly doubt that." _You're too sharp, Ludwig. But it's still mostly my fault..._

"No, really, I was just an arse to him, that's all."

"Is that so..."

Elizabeta said nothing, only pretended to analyse the nooks and crannies of his drawers. The lack of decor made it hard to act concentrated on anything except for the people in the room.

"If he's being stupid, just say so. I'll deal with it."

She forced a humourless laugh. "Thank you, but it really was my fault this time."

They were silent for a while, then Ludwig spoke. "You know, he's become even more of a mess since moving here. I don't understand it, even though I'm his brother, but he's always been very cold."

Elizabeta's slender, long eyebrows knitted together in a frown. "What do you mean? He seems to know how to entertain himself, and if you asked me, he's probably glib enough to go into politics."

"Ja, that is true. But he never gets too close to anyone. It's always just playing around. He even keeps his distance from me. He doesn't like asking for help, even though Francis, Antonio, and Arthur are smart enough to help him without him asking."

"...I always thought...it was because he was too proud."

"Perhaps. But perhaps not."

Elizabeta looked away. She knew that Ludwig was right. She had always assumed it was ego, thinking that his life was too ideal for anything otherwise. But all along, somewhere in the deepest recesses of her mind, she had unconsciously been aware of Gilbert's enigma. His actions were unexplainable, his moral claims senseless. It seemed to her that he had always known exactly what he was doing, no matter women or alcohol. But he did it anyway. She had known him for fourteen years but still could not divine a logical explanation.

"I think it had something to do with _Vater_," Ludwig said out of the blue.

Elizabeta swallowed a chilling mouthful of air down her dry throat. And here was the forbidden topic. The one Gilbert always brushed off. "Didn't he pass away due to an accident with a gas stove?"

"_Ja_...but Gilbert was there. Mama wasn't. And I obviously don't remember it." He turned to fix her with his solemn blue eyes. Right now, they were just a little sad. He never really knew his father. He was only two when Alexander Beilschmidt passed away. From what Elizabeta knew, he was a very clever man, just like his two sons, widely-praised for his brilliant mind and intuition. She had seen a picture once before, inside a drawer in Gilbert's room. He was a blonde man with an intelligent sparkle in his blue eyes. He looked a lot like Ludwig.

The running water in the adjacent room came to a stop with a creak. There was some rustling around, then Gilbert emerged out from the room with a towel over his shoulder, dressed in grey jeans and a black shirt with German print in red. He rubbed his wet hair with the towel, stretched his arms, and slumped down beside his brother on the sofa. "Ah, that feels good. So. Right. Ludwig. I brought over the documents Mama wanted. When will she be here?"

"She is coming _here_?" Elizabeta interjected, mildly shocked. Frau Beilschmidt rarely left Germany, since she had to take care of the company.

"Oh. _Ja_. Sorry, we should've told you. We only just found out two days ago," Ludwig replied apologetically. "We don't know why she's coming either, but it's urgent."

"I see...Well, give her my regards if I don't get the chance to see her."

"Of course," Ludwig nodded.

But Elizabeta had her eyes fixed on Gilbert the entire time. He wouldn't look at her directly, nor would he speak. Normally, he'd be all over the topic. He seemed distracted, his eyes loosely focused through the window on the identical building opposite Ludwig's. Elizabeta doubted he was really seeing anything.

"She says she'll be here tomorrow afternoon. Do you want to go to the airport or should I?" Ludwig gave his absentminded brother a light shove on the shoulder.

"Huh? Oh, I promised Arthur I would meet him tomorrow afternoon. I'll try to come back early, but it's quite important."

"Fine. But try to hurry back so we don't have to cut into work hours."

Gilbert nodded in acknowledgement, but continued to be preoccupied. Elizabeta could only wish that it wasn't because of her own presence.

Then, a ding. It was the doorbell. Gilbert gave his brother a questioning frown, but Ludwig only shrugged in reply. The younger Beilschmidt stood up to get the door. He put his eye against the peephole, then instantaneously wrenched the door open.

"Mama!"

Both Elizabeta and Gilbert sprang to their feet, hastening to the doorway. And lo and behold, there she was, perched in the hall with a white handbag slung over one shoulder, business-like and sensible, as if she had just walked straight out of their three-story house in western Berlin. She was a tall, willowy woman, with hazelnut eyes and light amber hair—now with strands of grey scattered within—pulled into a bun. Though at first sight she resembled neither of her sons, if Elizabeta examined closely, it became evident that Gilbert had inherited her elegant, straight nose. Elizabeta knew that she must have been beautiful when she was younger, and had wondered for years what she was like before her life became full with the company and her sons.

_"Mama! You're early,"_ Gilbert exclaimed _(in German)._

She sighed, her fatigue multiplying the wrinkles on her face she normally hid so well. "_Yes, I am. Hallo, Gilbert. Oh, and Eliza! You are here, too! I'm glad_," she smiled. Elizabeta smiled back and greeted her warmly. Frau Beilschmidt had always treated her like a daughter. In fact, Frau Beilschmidt very much wanted a daughter, and did not hesitate to complain to her sons (after which Gil would always jokingly say that she had one and point to Ludwig).

"_Mama, you don't look well."_ Ludwig hurriedly led her inside to sit, disconcerted.

_"I'm fine. Don't fuss,"_ she waved him off. _"And Elizabeta, your parents send their regard."_

_"Thank you. I really do hope they're well. They always reassure me, but always worry." _

After a few minutes of chatter, Ludwig finally got around to the real problem at hand. _"Mama, why did you come? Why the urgency?" _Frau Beilschmidt set down her cup of tea on the table and sombrely retrieved some documents from her handbag. Elizabeta could see traces of Ludwig when she wore such a grave expression.

_"I am here,"_ she breathed a fatigued sigh, _"to discuss the contents of your Großvater*__'s will."_

A dead silence befell the room, like the cold, slippery mist that settled in London before dawn broke. The atmosphere seemed to have become infinitely heavier.

"I'll...take my leave," Elizabeta said, standing up.

"No," Gilbert suddenly called after her, "Wait for me outside."

She nodded curtly, and hastily rushed out the door. Once out in the corridor, she leaned her back against the white brick wall and closed her eyes. Her chest still throbbed, after almost a year, at the thought that every time she returned home, that spirited old man wouldn't be there offering up drinks anymore. He was the brothers' paternal grandfather, a clever man with an azure sparkle in his faded, liquid eyes. He had reprised the role as head of the family business after their father's death, with help from Frau Beilschmidt. Outside of business (in which he was practical and economical to the utmost degree), he was a carefree sort of man, who liked people and places and people from different places. And he had a kind of passion for life that naturally attracted these people. He had moved in to live with the family shortly after the death of their father, and took care of the boys to the best of his abilities. He loved the two boys dearly, though he was strict on their upbringing.

But on the other hand, he was also a rich man, whose success survived the Cold War and all the upheavals along the way. If each of the brothers received half of his property, both would be instant millionaires. Elizabeta came from a well-to-do family herself, but she simply could not fathom the amount of wealth that the Beilschmidts had in their bank accounts. Why they chose to live in such a relatively average neighbourhood in such a comparatively average house when they could afford a mansion complete with butlers and maids was beyond her (although she was sure _Großvater_ did have other estates under his name). She inhaled a lingering mouthful of air, then breathed out, attempting to alleviate herself of the thrumming pressure in her chest. And at the moment, she realised that, in the end, she didn't care whether or not Gilbert was rich. Love was perhaps the only thing blind to money.

Suddenly, she heard voices rise at an alarming rate from the other side of the door. Muffled, irascible cries of outrage. She frowned and listened a little closer. She was astonished to find that the person bellowing was none other than Ludwig Beilschmidt. Then, Gilbert's distinct rasp rose to match his brother's incensed exclamations, but Elizabeta still could not make out the words. Footsteps approached along with Gilbert's voice, and both his mother and brother shouted after him. Whoosh. The door swung open in a flash, and he stormed out of the apartment, his red eyes cold and severe like Elizabeta had never seen them before. Perhaps it was her imagination, but they seemed to soften slightly at the sight of her.

_"I'll wait for your downstairs."_

Then, he stalked past her towards the stairs. Ludwig came running into the hallway, red-faced from screaming at the top of his lungs.

_"Gilbert!"_ he yelled. His shout reverberated against the white walls, bouncing in scattered directions until dissipating slowly into the surrounding bricks. But his brother was already gone. He swore furiously in German. _"Why is he always so difficult?"_

_"He's always been like that,"_ Frau Beilschmidt said almost regretfully, appearing behind her younger son, shaking her head. She appeared distressed.

Elizabeta couldn't help but stare at the two of them with alarmed confusion. What happened? Frau Beilschmidt turned to her with exhausted chestnut eyes and explained, _"The will...left everything to Ludwig. Nothing to Gilbert at all. It didn't even mention his name." _

Elizabeta's eyes grew large in shock. _"How could that be? There has to be a mistake!"_

_"Calm, my dear. I know how you feel,"_ the older woman said, laying a gentle hand on Elizabeta's shoulder. _"That is exactly what Ludwig and I told Gilbert. We wanted to properly review the will, and, if there really no mistake made, divide the inheritance equally. Ludwig was the first to volunteer. But Gilbert...that child...he would hear none of it. He absolutely refuses to take anything." _

Elizabeta realised that her hands had formed tight fists of their own accord. She forcibly unclenched them. It was yet another act that she could not understand. Yet another part of Gilbert that she had failed to grasp. She had to find out. Find out why.

_"I'm sorry. I have to go. Goodbye." _

And she sped off after him, the sound of her footsteps echoing down the stairway.

* * *

They've been on the car for five whole minutes, stuck in traffic for most of it, and not a single word. She was sitting next to him in the passenger's seat, wringing her hands together rather restlessly as she stole glances of him from her peripherals. _When have I become so desperately smitten? I have got to get myself out. _And there was only one way.

"So...how've you been?" Elizabeta endeavoured.

"I've been better," Gilbert replied. She was relieved. He sounded more composed than she had expected.

"Must be tough, huh...with...everything..." She had no idea what she was saying. But she wanted to say _something_. No, she wanted _him _to say something. She had really missed his familiar rasp. It had become something of a caricature in the fourteen years she'd known him. Something that was constant and perpetual, no matter how much hell she was going through.

"No, there's nothing really. Everything's normal. I guess I've just hit one of those ruts. Most people get that from time to time."

Another pause. She didn't know what to say to that. It felt like she had just set herself up for a trap. She also found it strange that he mentioned nothing about his car.

"Were you and Ludwig together yesterday?" he asked out of the blue. His crimson eyes were resolutely concentrated on the road ahead, though all he was staring at was a long line of cars honking at each other across the lanes. There appeared to be some sort of traffic accident.

"Erm...yeah...Roderich had a concert and he invited us. Ludwig, Antonio, and I. Basch was there, too. I think he also invited Arthur, but he didn't show up," Elizabeta explained.

"Really..." Gilbert's voice was thick with dry sarcasm all of a sudden. "Well, I was with Arthur for most of yesterday. He had a lot on his mind."

"It seems like there's a lot on yours, too," she blurted, then regretted it immediately. She didn't want to pry, lest she angered him.

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Not really. I've been fine. Just the usual. Labs, physics, alcohol..."

"Right. I heard from Antonio and Francis that you've been drinking a lot. Just...be careful of your health, okay?" She was genuinely distraught by this. Gil had never been a binger. Even though he did have a dangerous love of the stuff, he'd always had the sense to stay relatively sober.

"I know, I know...you sound just like the three of them. Francis, Antonio, and Arthur. I've been sober for five days, ok? _Gott_, I hope Ludwig doesn't bring it up with Mama. And don't you talk about it either. She'll ship me back to _Deutschland_ in an instant. Not that it would help the drinking..." He was complaining again. Ranting like his normal, glorious self. Elizabeta let out a relieved sigh inwardly and allowed a secret smile to creep onto her face. He was back.

"Fine, I won't say anything. If you pay me this month's wage," she snickered.

"That's blackmail! You evil, conniving woman!" He was laughing again. And so was she. They were laughing together, just like before. It was as if those three weeks never happened. But Elizabeta promptly righted herself. She knew that it wasn't the same anymore. If those few weeks had not happened, she might have passed up the love of her life without ever knowing it. For the first time in her twenty-three years, she regretted not listening to Francis beforehand.

"Hey, I don't know if you've noticed, but...do you think Roderich and Basch are together?" she asked, suppressing a giggle. Gilbert was good at many things. Gossip was not one of them.

"Uh...together?" Totally clueless.

"Like...you know...together," she said again emphatically, with a quirk of the eyebrow.

"Oh...wait, _WHAT?"_ His elbow slammed into the horn, resulting in a deafening honking war that domino-ed down the street. Elizabeta burst into a fit of laughter, her torso trembling with the effort. She laid her head on the headrest, shoulders still shaking.

"_What?"_ The silver-haired man crossed his arms over his chest, disgruntled. "So _everybody's_ gay now?"

"Ahahahahaha...you're so oblivious...It's just my guess. They seem pretty close, though. I saw them the other day at a cafe together. Alone."

"Ja...come to think of it, Roderich went all the way to Imperial to meet him a few days ago. Wait a minute...but that still doesn't mean they're gay! They could just be mates, right? I mean, I was with Arthur that same day _and_ every day after that and we're still just mates!"

"I guess that _could_ be the case..."

"Hey, if Roderich's gay, wouldn't that mean you dated a gay man?" Gilbert snorted.

"He can be bisexual, okay?" Elizabeta flared, punching him on his arm.

"But still...he likes men! Haha, this is too rich!" He keeled over against the steering wheel laughing, tears seeping out the corners of his eyes. Elizabeta grumbled, then shouted at him to shut up. "Now I finally understand why he dumped you!" he mustered through uncontrollable howls of laughter.

"He did _not _dump me! It was a mutual agreement!" she snarled. "He was performing half the time. And when he wasn't, he was practicing. Classical music is fine, but it was overkill."

"What did you like about him anyway? I never understood that."

She opened her mouth to say something about his maturity and sense of responsibility, but she drew a blank. What did she like about him, anyway? She was sure she spent more time with Gilbert even when she and Roderich were dating. "I...don't know," she admitted grudgingly, a faint blush colouring her face. All she could think about was how much she liked the man sitting next to her right now.

"Anyway," she quickly rushed to change the topic, "£100 that they're together."

"Fine!"

"Fine."

"...What about Antonio and Lovino, then?" he wondered after a short hesitation.

"You like gossip more than you let on, Beilschmidt," she snickered.

"Do not! Antonio's just moping around all day! It's kind of hard to miss when you live with him! First thing every morning is 'Lovi is so cute! Why is he so cruel?' It gets on your nerves after a while."

"Well, I say they'll end up together."

"I hope not! Antonio will become a full-fledged and obsessive bastard!"

"Don't say that. He's in love! It's adorable."

"I'm going to puke."

"Shut up..." _Was he really that opposed to love? No, he's human after all. I'm sure it's just a bluff._

"Fine. £200 on Antonio and Lovi!" Elizabeta declared.

"Done."

"Done!"

They both turned to face each other for a business-like handshake, but a loud horn abruptly sounded from behind. _"Scheiße_*_!"_ he cursed, as the stream of traffic began to flow again. He stepped on the gas pedal as Elizabeta giggled until her stomach ached in the seat next to him.

* * *

The long hallways were brightly-lit, with walls painted a light periwinkle and rooms lined up in neat rows on either side, odds on the left and evens on the right. Each door was made of refined steel, with a vertical, slit-sized window along its left side. Gilbert trailed down the hall cautiously with Elizabeta at his side. It was just wide enough for the two of them to go down shoulder to shoulder, with barely an inch to spare in between. The sound of his heavy footsteps echoed clearly down the corridor, heavy next to Elizabeta's light, graceful clicks.

He was so glad they could still laugh and talk like before he felt as if his entire being was relieved of some great demon that had been torturing him for the past three weeks. The demon was replaced by a glow of euphoria and a twinge of nervousness, which overtook him now. About a week ago, in the depth of his intoxication, a slow idea had emerged in his mind and metamorphosed into restlessness. What if he really was in love with her? Just that slight possibility was enough to drive him insane. What if? No, the idea was ludicrous. _He_ couldn't be in love. Or rather, _love _couldn't have come to him. It was a paradox. An untruth. There was no way. But where there was a paradox, there was always a question, and where there was a question, there was always doubt. And that one ounce of doubt. That one drop, one inkling. In the deepest recesses of his mind. It was making him panic.

As they walked along side by side, he couldn't help but notice the elegant curve of her waist and subtle grace of her legs. _Why do you have to wear a skirt today of all days? Didn't you say when we were little that you were going to grow up to be a man?_ He had always known she was beautiful. It was always something that he simply acknowledged. Took for granted. But right now, he was rediscovering it. Little by little.

"Room 309 was it?" she mused, eyes sweeping the room numbers painted on top of the doors.

"_Ja_," he reaffirmed. "It should be right..."

It was on their left. The two stopped in front of the steel door marked 309, and, hearing the muffled tango music emanating from inside, they both peered stealthily inside. Antonio was dancing. He wouldn't dance for them, no matter how much they begged or threatened. Gilbert knew that it was because he was ashamed, since he had broken his leg in a fight four years ago, which apparently destroyed his dance posture, which was why he went on to study choreography instead of professional dance. It was a pity, really, in Gilbert's opinion. Antonio was a child prodigy. And if that nancy-boy Roderich was able to make it big, then hell Antonio could.

"_Ó, Isténem_," Elizabeta whispered in awe, "Is that _him_?"

Gilbert didn't answer, but only watched with building shock. Yes. Antonio was dancing. Dancing like fire. There was no other way to describe it. Fire was ferocious. It was ambitious. It was fervid. It was passionate. With each step, he seemed to become the music itself. Lively and hot-blooded. Burning with vehement youth and love for life. Antonio let it consume him.

Gilbert could never have imagined that such fervour could have been stored in that slothful soul of his this whole time, sleeping and dormant but close to the surface. It was like nothing he had seen before. It was a piece he knew he _himself_ was missing. But he daren't hope for it. It was a piece beyond his reaches.

The music faded and Antonio's steps slowed to a stop. He bowed to someone out of their view. Then, half of a figure swayed into the corner of the window. A male. They could only see the back of his head to the corner of his leg. He was slim, with dark brown hair, dressed in a moss green hood, faded blue jeans, and a pair of worn-down trainers.

"Is that Lovino?" Elizabeta squealed. Gilbert quickly clamped his hand over her mouth and put a finger to his lips. Then, slowly, soundlessly, he turned the door handle and opened the door a small crack. He felt Elizabeta giggle into his hand. It tickled.

"That was...really..." Lovino muttered, tripping over his words. _He wouldn't dance for us but he'd do it for that little prat? _

"I know. I've been trying for ages but it's just not the same as before. But since you said you wanted to see...this is the best I can do..." Antonio grinned sheepishly.

Lovino abruptly stalked over and-thump! In a flash, his fist landed on Antonio's stomach. "Don't fuck with me!" Lovino's voice sent tremors through the mirrors that surrounded them. With a loud oof! Antonio stumbled back a little, a pained expression on his face. "Uh...Lovi, you're so cruel to me..." Gilbert wondered how the idiot Antonio wasn't in a rage by now.

"Stop being so...ugh! Stop pretending you're not good...you...you're okay! Alright? You're so annoying!" Lovino crossed his arms over his chest and puffed out his cheeks sulkily.

Elizabeta began to squeal again at this point, and Gilbert clamped his hand over her mouth even harder. "Shshshshshshh! Do you want to eavesdrop or not?" he whispered. She nodded, and he carefully removed his hand.

"...Thanks," the Spaniard laughed a little dumbly, half-swooning. "I'm glad you like it_." Gott, he's so hopeless..._

"I-I didn't say I like it, got it? I just...! I just came over to...thank you for the other day...with that pervert bastard and everything..." Gilbert tilted his head to the left and caught a short glimpse of Lovino's reflection in the mirrors. His face was almost as red as the beets he so enjoyed to chop up. Gilbert made a gagging motion to Elizabeta, who slapped his arm with a cute little pout on her face. She was so adorable when she sulked.

"...Oh! You don't have to thank me for that! I mean, of course I'd do that. For you, I mean. I don't think...I'd have been able to do that for anyone else...I'm actually really scared of drunk people... Except for Gil, of course..." Antonio was sputtering nonsense again. _That traitor...you better be scared of me when I'm sober, then. _

"Uh..." An awkward silence fell as both of them stared at their hands and feet. Gilbert found himself unconsciously rooting for his friend. _C'mon, you idiot! Get in there!_

Lovino chewed on his bottom lip indecisively, then stammered, "W-Well...uh...Ugh!" He shook his head violently and abruptly covered his face with his hands. "D-d-don't l-look,_ bastardo*__!"_ he stuttered, trying to remain at least somewhat hostile.

"_¡Dios Mio! _You are too adorable!" Antonio suddenly threw his arms around the Italian, who yelped in surprise.

"What're you doing,_ bastardo?_ Lemmegooo!"

By this point, Elizabeta was squeaking uncontrollably into his palm. She gripped his other hand tightly out of excitement, squeezing it with her slim, feminine fingers. His cheeks warmed a little, but he said nothing and turned his attention back to the two idiots in the room. Lovino had calmed down some and was standing rigidly in Antonio's embrace, unsure of where to put his arms. But to Gilbert's mild bemusement, he did not push Antonio away. Instead he stood there frozen like a statue, completely overwhelmed and helpless while his face grew redder still.

Then, Antonio said in a more serious tone, "Lovi...I really wanted to show you that dance...because it was inspired by you."

"S-stupid bastard..." Lovino stammered, completely baffled, "In what way does that dance resemble me at all?" Gradually, he relaxed and gingerly settled an arm on Antonio's shoulder.

Gilbert felt Elizabeta give his hand a painful squeeze. He rolled his eyes and sighed. "You watch way too much television," he muttered under his breath. But he couldn't help but lean his ear slightly closer to the crack.

"Because," he heard Antonio say with a smile in his voice, "It's the way you make me feel."

"...What am I supposed to say to that, you bastard!" Lovino sputtered.

"Well...you still haven't given me an answer," Antonio said, gently letting go of the Italian. "It's been exactly three months, three weeks, and four days. So will you please...?"

"Wait! Wait, hold up!" Elizabeta interjected, trying to keep her voice hushed. "Antonio confessed?"

"Shhhh!" Gilbert shushed, then continued, "Ja, he did. He was being a complete sap the entire year, ever since he heard the news that Lovino was coming here. Antonio's liked him since he was 16. That pathetic idiot. So Francis and I finally convinced him to confess three months ago, but Lovino just ran away and never gave him an answer."

"Wow..." Elizabeta whispered through her fingers. She seemed as if she was envious. Gilbert daren't imagine what of.

"I don't get why he wastes his time on one person. Whatever 'love' he has for Lovino, I'm sure it'll eventually fade," Gilbert grumbled.

"Don't say that..." Elizabeta's expression suddenly darkened. "I believe in love."

Gilbert opened his mouth, but no words came out. He had no idea what to say. Or rather, he couldn't say it. Not to her playful, green eyes and blithe curve of the lip. Thankfully, at this time, Lovino finally spoke.

"I-I..." Lovino couldn't raise his head to meet Antonio's kind gaze. He clenched and unclenched his hands several times, then took a deep breath. "Okay! I give up! I give up, alright? I like you, too!" he burst, a gush of words flowing out at once. "I've been trying not to because I feel so stupid being like this! Th-this annoying, foolish, bothersome..." he soon degenerated into a string of frenzied Italian, though he was still tripping over his words.

"Hey! Hey...Lovi..." Antonio leaned in closer and gently tilted his head to the side-

Gilbert shut the door lightning fast, and swiftly pulled Elizabeta back into the corridor.

"Hey! What was that for?"

"We are _not_ going to stand there and watch two blokes snog each other!"

"Well! Ugh!" She puckered up her lips into a sulky pout.

"_Gott_...I can't believe you," Gilbert sighed, shaking his head in disapproval.

Elizabeta slapped his shoulder and turned on her heel, barging in straight through Door 309 before Gilbert could stop her. "You're _soooo_ busted!" she cried, bursting in heroically. Gilbert rushed in after her with a completely bewildered expression on his face. But none so flabbergasted as Antonio and Lovino, who had their arms around each other as they stared dumbfounded at the approaching Elizabeta. Then, finally realising their predicament, they quickly let go of each other and hid their hands behinds their backs.

Lovino's face burned bright scarlet, "No! No! It's not what you think!" He began to wave his arms around in hysterical panic.

"I'll tell you what I think!" Elizabeta declared, coming up between the two befuddled men and swung one arm around each of their shoulders. "I'm so proud of you two! You finally grew up!"

"Wh-wha-? No! I-him! NO!" Lovino began sputtering bits of incoherence once again, while Antonio looked from Gilbert to Elizabeta to Gilbert again.

"Wait a minute...so...is everything okay?" he finally asked, eyebrows arched in surprise, after a long period of contemplation.

"What do you mean okay, you big idiot?" Elizabeta laughed, quite obviously in a good mood. "There was nothing wrong in the first place."

Gilbert's forehead furrowed slightly at this. _Nothing wrong in the first place? But I thought she hated me. Now she just decides she doesn't anymore? Bipolar woman. I don't understand her at all. So frustrating. It's so hard to keep her happy._ He rolled his eyes and decided just to go along with it.

Meanwhile, Antonio was just as confused. It all showed on his face. "Really? We were all under the impression something was wrong."

"Well, whoever 'we' is, they're mistaken," she said, dismissing the question with a light wave of her hand. As Elizabeta was bantering animatedly at an intensely distressed Lovino, Antonio gave Gilbert an inquisitive look. Gilbert shook his head and heaved an exasperated sigh. He had no idea what was going on in her head. Antonio returned this gesture with a small frown. Gilbert knew exactly what it meant. _'You should talk to her._' Gilbert wrinkled his nose in reply, repulsed by the idea. _No! Why would I do that?_ Antonio shook his head a little sadly and directed his attention back to Lovino.

The panicked Italian had recovered some of his composure (but not much) and was having a one-sided argument with Elizabeta, which consisted of Elizabeta's continual insistence that he should move back to Spain with Antonio and get married* to him while he tried to no avail to deny any romantic relationship between him and Antonio. Antonio fixed the subject of his affection with a dramatically hurt gaze. "Lovi! But...just now..."

Gilbert thought he saw something close to fear surface on Lovino's disgruntled face. Then, the expression morphed into defiance, but quickly changed to embarrassed defeat. "Alright! Alright! _Cristo_! I'll go out with you, but I'm definitely _not _marrying you!" he screamed, then whipped around and sprinted out the door, leaving it swinging in his wake.

Antonio practically melted in happiness. He pranced around the room and did a few very elaborate jumps in the air while yelping in joy before leaping into Gilbert's arms singing _"¡Dios Mío! Mi amor*__!"_ at the top of his lungs.

"_Nein! Nein!_ Let go! Your '_amor_' isn't here!" Gilbert yelled with an irked expression. He pried Antonio off of him with a disgusted shiver while Elizabeta was in hysterics behind them.

"Oh, Gil! Love is so divine!" Antonio sighed, on the verge of joyful tears, "You should really try it sometime."

"Nonsense," Gilbert muttered under his breath, then hastily changed the subject. "So, why did you call the two of us here? Speak up or I'll smack you so hard your cells won't ever grow back!" he threatened in with menacing red eyes.

"Ah! Right! That! I was supposed to help mediate your problems! But who knew you would've worked it out already! You two are really stubborn mules."

"Francis..." Gilbert seethed murderously. This whole setup had Francis Bonnefoy written all over it.

Elizabeta came up from behind and propped an elbow on Gilbert's shoulder. "Well, as you can see, whatever problems there seemed to be, they're all resolved," she said to Antonio confidently. Gilbert caught himself with a small smile at this, then gave himself a mental slap. _You're being an idiot! Stop it!_

"Ah, well, then...I'm done here anyway so...want to go to work?" The Spaniard scratched his head with an awkward grin.

"It's only five," Elizabeta groaned, however not losing an ounce of her upbeat mood, "But I guess there can be traffic on the way." She slung an arm around both Gilbert and Antonio's shoulder and steered them unsteadily towards the door, all the while singing a Hungarian song at the top of her lungs.

* * *

That night, the Hub was the same as always, bustling with spirited voices and full of young, energetic bodies. Gilbert didn't know why, but the place had always held a certain charisma to it. It was that charisma that washed away his exhaustion from his everyday life, despite his job being just as tiresome as any lab or project. Perhaps it was the undying energy of the place that refreshed his lethargic mind. Perhaps it was the people in it that piqued his interest. But whatever it was, Gilbert sensed that it was ever more powerful tonight. Because tonight, he knew that Elizabeta would be there to complain about all those girls she so loathed. She'll be there to talk to him again. Just talking was enough.

"Gil! Gil, I need to talk to you." Arthur approached the bar counter with troubled, darting green eyes. It was 8:45 pm, still early in the evening, and the place was in the mellower phase when people chatted and laughed without getting too tipsy. Arthur never showed his face at this time. Not when people were sober. It must be urgent. But then again, everything was urgent with Arthur these days. He was gloomier than Gilbert had ever seen him, but for more reasons than he was letting on, Gilbert suspected. Arthur wasn't the overly dependent kind of person, but recently he had been spending close to entire days with Gilbert for a variety of different reasons. But in the end, it all came down to the same basic reason: he was nervous.

Arthur was an irritable person to begin with. Gilbert recalled the countless number of pointless squabbles that Arthur and Francis had gotten into over the years, including just the previous night when Francis was insisting on washing the Briton's hair for him because he was 'doing it wrong.' Francis ended up with a painful smack to his jaw (he may not look it, but Arthur was adept at fighting). But his personality aside, Gilbert sensed that there was something wrong. Something gravely wrong. His mind wandered off too much and he stared out windows with a deep, heavy frown. His mood fluctuated so dramatically that he seemed to exhaust himself mentally just from sitting and thinking. To tell the truth, Gilbert knew that he himself had been shirking his duties as a friend. Normally, he would have already forced Arthur into telling him the problem (or at least the part that he didn't know about). But recently he had been too caught up in his drinking and moping about. He felt thoroughly pathetic. What was the matter with him? Where did all his level-headed logic evaporate off to? He hadn't a clue.

"Hey, what's the problem?" Gilbert asked, quickly excusing himself from the bar. He had been talking to a few girls who came down from Manchester for the weekend. He was up for some crazy good sex tonight. It'd been way too long since his last fuck.

"Gilbert, I saw _her_ again before opening. She was walking down Knightsbridge. I knew it... She never just _walks_ down the street. She's obviously looking for me. She knows I'm here!" he panicked, snagging a glass of scotch from the counter and downing it in one gulp.

"Whoa! Arthur, you need to calm down!" Gilbert snatched the glass away and drank the rest of it himself.

"HOW DO I CALM DOWN WHEN THEY'RE GOING TO FIND ME IN THE NEXT FOUR BLOODY MINUTES?"

Splash. Gilbert dumped the remaining ice in the glass on the hysterical man's face. Arthur glared at him murderously with ice melting into his shirt and blazer.

"Ha! Your eyebrows look funny," Gilbert snorted.

_"Funny?_ What the bloody hell was that for?" Arthur raged. He was getting stares from people near the bar.

"To calm you down. And it worked, too," Gilbert grinned innocently. He had done it out of kindness, he convinced himself, and not just to see Arthur's wet eyebrows. "Hey, listen, you're the only 24-year-old bloke I know who's this scared of his mother. Will you just relax?"

"She's the devil in high heels! She-" he took a deep breath to recollect himself and continued in a lowered voice, "If she catches me, I'm done for. You know that. The rest of my life."

"No! That's exactly what I've been telling you the whole time! You're _not_ done for! Just _tell_ them! You have a sharp tongue, use it!"

"I _can't_ just _tell_ them something like this! It's...It's..." he struggled for the right word, "It's just inappropriate!"

"What do you mean inappropriate? Hey, mum, dad, I'm gay. I like men. You don't even have to apologise!"

"But I can't!"

"Why not?"

He bit his lip and leaned in closer. "You know perfectly well why not. I can't just walk up to them and say 'Hello! Sorry, but I enjoy having men stick their penises up my arse, so I can't go back with you and get married'," he whispered through gritted teeth. "That's completely mad!"

Gilbert paused for a second to let him catch his breath. His words had been tumbling out with little space to breathe in between. Gilbert had only seen Arthur so frustrated once before, and it was when Gilbert had brought a girl back to the flat, which not only was careless but also broke their 'no fucking in the flat' rule. Arthur had walked in at just the wrong moment, after which he refused to speak to Gilbert for weeks. Gilbert could understand something like _that, _especially for someone like Arthur, but Arthur had stayed relatively unruffled from this whole ordeal for this long. Of course he was in a tight fix, but even if the dilemma did concern his parents, he tended not to lose control. He was the sort that complained when there wasn't a problem and took action when there was. So why was he breaking down now of all times?

"Hey, what're you two talking about?" someone abruptly intervened from right behind them. Gilbert whipped around to find Alfred, standing next to him with an unexpectedly grim look on his face. _Oh, no. I hope he didn't hear any of that..._

"Nothing in particular. Just today's stocks," Gilbert answered with a smooth grin. It was a lie, but a good one. They tended to get into heated debates about the economy on a regular basis. And neither was it something Alfred was interested in. However, glancing at Arthur, Gilbert found him to have grown silent, eyes downcast and gloomy. Gilbert frowned slightly, then turned back to Alfred. "So you should probably get back to the bar while we finish up here," Gilbert said. Alfred was clearly making Arthur uncomfortable with his overbearing presence.

"Well, since you're not doing anything anyway, why don't you come back with me? I find it annoying when you take little breaks like this and leave me to cover up," Alfred said snidely. Gilbert wasn't provoked, but fixed the American with a quizzical look.

"Are you okay? Go get a cool drink."

"No. I'm not leaving until you come back with me," he insisted, taking an aggressive step forward.

Gilbert glanced at Arthur again, who would've definitely said something by now but for some unfeasible reason did _not_. He had turned his head away, probably still wearing the same uneasy expression on his face. Gilbert sighed, then said, "Alright. Fine. Let's go." Arthur peered up at Gilbert, but only received an apologetic roll of the eye from the silver-haired German as he left.

Gilbert watched from the bar as Arthur return to his office upstairs. He felt unexplainably unsettled. Perhaps it was the thought that they were so close to being caught. Perhaps it was both Alfred and Arthur's strange behaviour. But he was definitely going to be on the lookout tonight. Wary and alert. If anybody came in...he slowly formulated a plan in his head.

Alfred didn't speak with him after that. Until an hour from closing time, that was. When all hell broke loose.

An hour before closing time. The place had gone into the final phase of intoxication. Men were shamelessly flirting with girls, and vice versa. The noise level had also significantly gone up a notch. This was usually the time of day when Ludwig wore his scary, inscrutable face around so no one would get _too_ out of line. And thank goodness for that, too. Especially tonight.

"Hello. Can I get a custom please?" asked a good-natured and most-importantly sober female voice.

Gilbert Beilschmidt turned to face the young woman at the counter, one in her early twenties with long brown hair and dark eyes. Gilbert knew her type at a glance: the sexy and dangerous. But this didn't bother him at all. He'd played with plenty of women like her. What _did _bother him was how familiar she appeared.

"Of course." He examined her closely and noted that she was the woman Alfred was speaking to a few nights ago. Vanessa, he called her. Gilbert remembered him saying that she probably won't be back again. _That's strange...Al's rarely wrong about this sort of thing. But now that I look closer...it seems that I've seen her somewhere else before. Not at the bar. _

After a few drinks, she called for Gilbert again. She smiled at him coyly in a way that reminded him of a fox. "Gil, I like this place."

"I'm glad," Gilbert smiled professionally. "We do put effort into what we do."

"Yes, I know," she continued. Gilbert sensed something coming. _I know that I've seen her somewhere before! I just know it... _But he exhibited none of his anxiety on his face."So, who's the genius who came up with the idea? Whoever he is, he must be quite the clever businessman," she laughed, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

And it struck him like lightning. He knew _exactly_ where he had seen her now. The picture on Arthur's phone. There was no mistaking the birth mark on her neck. She was _that _Vanessa. How could he have been so careless?

But he made sure that he betrayed no emotion. "Yes, of course," he grinned back, then added, "Would you excuse me a moment? My phone is vibrating." And he instantaneously left the counter, taking a detour to the kitchen.

"Gilbert! What're you doing back here?" Yao greeted spiritedly. It was a rare occasion that the great Gilbert Beilschmidt stepped in the kitchen. "Francis is in the toilet if you were looking for him."

Gilbert sucked in a deep breath. His heart pounded faster and faster by the second, blood pulsating through his veins. _Think, Gilbert, think! How do we get out of this fix? She's asking for the owner, it must mean she knows Arthur is here. Arthur also mentioned his mother being nearby right before work. Gott, this is bad...how many people do they have..._His red eyes swiftly scanned the kitchen. Yao and Horace were at the stove. Blanche was taking a break along with Lovino in the back of the room. Francis was in the toilet, according to Yao. And Arthur...Gilbert promptly rushed to the door on the right side of the kitchen that was connected to the back of the manager's office. He pounded with all his might.

"Arthur! Arthur!"

"What is it, you git?" the familiar voice emanated from the other side.

"Vanessa's here!"

"_What? _Are you sure it's her?"

"_Ja_. She had the birth mark and was asking about you. You need to get out of here."

"...But how? If what you say is true, then we're probably surrounded!"

"Just get your stuff. I'll think of a way."

"I owe you one."

"Go!"

As soon as Gilbert heard shuffling inside the office, he turned back to the kitchen and-

"Yao! You scared me." The Chinese man was standing right behind him with a ladle in his hand, neat ponytail and all.

"Is there a problem, Gilbert?" he questioned suspiciously. Horace was perched behind him dutifully as usual. _Damn, he's sharp._

"Uh..."

"If you're trying to escape from somebody, I could lend you a hand."

"How did you-" Gilbert started with alarm.

"I'll explain later. We should run now."

Gilbert gritted his teeth and decided to trust in his instinct. Yao seemed sincere enough. Gilbert didn't know how much Yao knew, but he never said anything to expose them and obviously didn't mean any harm. Right now, it was crucial to get Arthur out as quickly as possible. There was no time to doubt. "Okay. Alright. Here's what we're going to do. You and Horace. Silver BMW, ja?" Yao nodded. "Good. Right now, there are probably men outside in cars watching the restaurant. We'll go at the same time, in opposite directions. They'll assume Arthur's with me, so you take Arthur."

"_Salut!_" Francis suddenly popped out from behind them with a suave smile on his face. Then he sensed the tenseness of the atmosphere. "What's going on?"

"Francis! Francis, _Gott!_ I need you to go outside and flirt with a girl. Brunette, dark brown eyes, really nice body, dangerous type. You'll recognise her easily. Name's Vanessa Kitchener. Just...distract for as long as possible. Do all you can."

"What is the matter?" Francis frowned.

"Go get Antonio and Ludwig if you can manage. Alfred should be at the bar where I last saw her. I want all of you to distract her. Tell them it's an emergency. Go! Now!" Gilbert snatched off Francis's chef's hat and pushed him towards the door.

"Can you at least tell me _what_ emergency?" Francis peered back with questioning blue eyes as he neared the door.

"Arthur's dysfunctional family. Now go!" The French man nodded and hastened purposefully out the door. This was what Gilbert liked about Francis. He was fun, but had a good judgment of when to be serious.

Meanwhile, Yao had gone to change out of his chef's clothing along with Horace. Lovino and Blanche gathered around Gilbert, nonplussed. "Hey, what are we supposed to do, huh?" Lovino demanded, waving his butcher knife around assertively.

"You can clean up. We're done for the day." Arthur emerged behind Gilbert in the doorway, with his black courier bag over one shoulder.

"What? What is this?" Lovino cried in anger.

"You still get the same pay. Just go clean up like usual," Arthur ordered. He had evidently recovered some of his levelheadedness, which Gilbert was thankful for. Arthur was a problematic when he was panicky.

At this moment, the two Chinese men had returned from the locker room, dressed and ready. "Go with Yao and Horace, Arthur. They volunteered to help," Gilbert said, shoving the three others towards the back door. "Wait for me to get in my car. Go!" And with that, Arthur hastened out the door, albeit confused.

"Hey, what's going on, Gil? Lovino just told us we're closing." Bella and Elizabeta had sprinted in with the same puzzled expression that most everybody else was wearing.

"And why are all of them around that one girl?" Elizabeta demanded.

"No time to explain, I've got to go. You girls help clean up with Blanche and Lovino. Let the rest of them do their work on Vanessa."

"Vanessa? Is that the girl? Where's Arthur?" Elizabeta pursued. Bella had already left on Gilbert's instruction.

"Arthur's gone. I have to go, too," he said, rushing towards the locker room already with his shirt over his head.

"I'm going with you!" Elizabeta persisted.

"No! Go back with the others, Eliza."

"_I am going with you!"_ She followed him all the way into the men's locker room, barging in like a mad bull. Gilbert grumbled some unintelligible German. He knew that he'd be wasting his breath. "Okay, fine. But I'm warning you, this can get rough."

* * *

1 Groβvater- grandfather

2 Scheiβe- Shit

3 Bastardo- bastard. Quite self-explanatory.

4 Gay marriage is legal in Spain whereas Great Britain only recognises civil partnerships.

5 Dios Mio! Mi amor!- Oh God, my love.

**Re-edit: Thank you people, who pointed out 'un bastardo' is one bastard. I HAVE MADE CHANGES. (dire indeed *nods* )**

* * *

_**Firstly [Insert disclaimer from Chapter 1] Can you feel the tension building? But at this point I would like to make a very solemn announcement that from here on out is where the "don't do it at home" stuff starts. SO DON'T DO IT AT HOME. And now I'm making a shout out to a few things that's been a huge influence on my life and this story.**_

_** Number 1, once again to The Strawberry for all her help (she's going through a life crisis D: ) and also Ev who loves this story quite ardently xD. **_

_**Number 2, to England for making all of this possible by inundating me with his beautiful literature ever since I picked up that first classical novel (I think it was Around the World in 80 Days). Everyone knows that gigantic eyebrows are a sign of literary genius...READ CLASSICAL BRITISH LITERATURE Dickens, Orwell, and Austen will do you good in life, yes. **_

_**Number 3, to the deceased Steve Jobs for making the innovative iPod Touch, without which none of this would be possible since I wrote the entire first draft of the story ON AN IPOD APP YES I AM NOT KIDDING AT ALL (DraftPad is da name). **_

_**And finally, Number 4, to all my followers and reviewers and just people who read the story! And especially for those who like it enough to correct my grammatical errors!Thank you so much for reading/reviewing/favouriting/following/etc.!**_

_**Final note to a reviewer, Beastie: You asked me to tag it as USUK (at least for part of the time) so if you are reading this, you know I am doing you this modest favour since I, too, love USUK. **_


	6. Chapter 6: Their Blunders

_**The sixth chapter has begun...dun dun dun! This is where everything starts getting mixed up, so from here on out...there's a lot of action! This chapter has a little bit more USUK than PruHun, but the PruHun is also...very very important, you might say. Read on!~~**_

* * *

_"Bonsoir, mademoiselle."_ Francis suddenly popped up behind the counter with a slick smile on his face. Alfred was all too familiar with that smile. He was sort of relieved Francis had come to rescue him. He had been having a long, aggravating conversation with Vanessa—that one woman he was _sure _wouldn't come back again. For some reason, she kept asking about the owner of the restaurant. His instincts alerted him to withhold all information from her. For some reason, Alfred had that unpleasant gut feeling which bubbled up every time you walk past a dark alleyway. But thank goodness Francis was here, so he let the master handle it.

On the other hand, Alfred had no idea where Gilbert had gone. Probably drinking himself silly in the bathroom again. _That sonuvabitch...Arthur's been clinging to him these past few days. I knew it, he's stringing Arthur along. I just thought he was a player, but still a dependable friend. Who knew that he was so sly?_

"The lady wants another cocktail, Alfie," Francis said, putting an arm around the American's shoulder. Then, before Alfred could turn away to make the cocktail, Francis whispered in his ear, "Go get Antonio, Feliciano, and Ludwig. Tell them it's an emergency." Alfred nodded slightly so that Vanessa would not see, and quickly poured her a drink. Then, he made his way out of the bar and towards Antonio, who was talking (in complete oblivion) to a group of flirtatious girls at a table Feliciano was not far from.

Ludwig caught Alfred by the shoulder from behind. "Where's my brother, Alfred? Do you know?" Alfred shrugged, but passed on Francis's instructions instead. Ludwig only nodded and left, not asking another word. Alfred was always rather in awe of Ludwig and his steady composure, not to mention his Beilschmidt brain. Alfred found it bitterly ironic that the two brothers could be so different, and yet he could be envious of both at the same time.

After passing on the word to the Spaniard and Italian, he returned to the bar, which was now the number one attraction in the entire restaurant. With all the staff at the counter, everyone came to crowd around. Francis had apparently started a drinking contest. He had quickly figured out that Vanessa was a formidable drinker, and had volunteers challenge her to drinking. She seemed entertained enough, sitting there and staring shameless at all the best merchandise on the market. _What's he trying to pull? And where's Arthur? Won't he disapprove? _

Alfred watched from the sidelines as he continued to wonder where Arthur Kirkland had disappeared to. He really missed that bossy attitude and those adorable eyebrows...and the feeling of Arthur's skin against his own when they were in bed together. Alfred gave himself a mental slap. _No, don't think about sex! _He knew that if he did, then he'd probably storm up into that office this instant and take Arthur against his will again. Just like last time. The truth was that they hurt. Arthur's words_. 'I don't need to explain myself to you! You forced me into it! I told you 'one night' but you wouldn't bloody listen!' _They hurt so much that he felt as if his insides were being torn apart by an ugly, ferocious beast. A beast that roared every time he saw Arthur clinging to Gilbert. It was this beast that got him where he was right now. He knew that it was no use, and that he messed it up himself, but he couldn't help his own possessiveness no matter how hard he tried. In the end, he managed to make Arthur hate him all on his own. But he couldn't give up. He couldn't forget about those emerald green eyes that conveyed such flux and flow of emotion. He didn't know if he could ever forget.

"Hey! We're done! Clean up!" Lovino appeared behind him, roaring mercilessly into his ear. Alfred jumped, harshly pulled out of his miserable musings. _Wait...what did he say?_

"We're done? What do you mean? There's more than half an hour left!" Arthur was never one to let them shirk their duties. His money was going into this, and Alfred knew how much he loved his money.

"I don't know," Lovino grumbled, cleared irritated, "Boss's orders." Alfred scanned the room for Elizabeta and Bella. It was true. He caught a short glimpse of them the two girls disappearing into the kitchen. The rest of the staff was all gathered around the bar.

"Where's Arthur?" Alfred could feel his heartbeats gaining momentum. _What was happening? Francis and everyone...closing down early...something's not right. _

"Pfft. How would I know? That German bastard said he left."

"Gil?"

"Yeah. I think he left, too."

"With Arthur?" Alfred's jaw tightened.

"How should I know?" Lovino rolled his eyes. "Go clean up, bastard."

"Lovino, go tell Francis about closing. I'm leaving."

"W-what? Don't just-!" But Alfred was already gone, charging out the front door at full speed. Whatever was going on, he was determined to find out. He always had a feeling that Arthur was hiding something from him. From all of them. And Gilbert...it was too suspicious. But it didn't matter anymore. He had to make sure Arthur was safe.

He sprinted around the corner and made his way to the back of the restaurant just in time to see Gilbert Beilschmidt getting into his car. Alfred rushed closer, but soon discovered that Arthur was not with him.

At this time, a loud, blaring horn sounded from somewhere a few feet away. He jumped, then whipped around to find Horace honking at him from inside a silver BMW parked three cars away. Yao was in the passenger's seat, hand-motioning for him to move. Instead of yielding, Alfred sprinted up to the car and peered inside the backseat window. As he expected, Arthur was sitting there, wringing his hands nervously. Alfred banged on the car window to get his attention, and the Briton's head jolted up in alarm. Their eyes met, and Arthur seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. What's he so worried about?

"Hey! Get out of the way, Alfred! We're going to run you over!" Yao had rolled down the window and was shouting at him in an urgent tone.

"What's going on?" Alfred ignored Yao and continued to pound on the back window at Arthur.

Get out of the way or you'll get fucked up worse than you can imagine." It was Horace, speaking without so much as a twitch of his face muscle. It sent chills down Alfred's spine, but it didn't stop him from demanding, "Let me in! Arthur!"

"Are you listening to _anything _I say?" Yao grew exasperated, "Get out of the-"

Suddenly, Arthur spoke. "Let him in."

"Arthur?" Yao sounded nonplussed.

"Please. Let him in."

Click. Horace unlocked the car doors. Alfred instantly yanked the backdoor open and jumped inside next to Arthur. "Thanks," he said, a little sheepish as he strapped on the seatbelt. Horace locked the door again as Yao quickly dialled a number on his mobile.

"Hello? Gilbert?"

...

"Yes. I apologise. But we're ready now."

...

"Alright. I'll put you on speaker phone."

Beep. Yao set the phone down on his lap, lifting one hand to grasp tightly on the grab handle* to his left. Gilbert's caricatured rasp boomed through the phone.

"Okay. On three. One." Horace set his foot down carefully on top of the accelerator pedal. "Two." He steadied his grip on the steering wheel. "Three!"

Vroom! The car ricocheted off into the street with a masterful but ear-splitting sharp turn. Alfred caught a brief glimpse of Gilbert's Mercedes-Benz speeding off in the opposite direction.

"Shit!" Alfred screamed, thrown forward violently then jerked back forcefully by the seatbelt that suddenly tightened near his stomach. He quickly groped for the grab handle and regained some of his balance as they zoomed off on the night streets. Alfred looked over at Arthur, who was hanging on for dear life as they screeched onto a busier road with a loose litter of cars streaming through. Alfred thought that Horace would slow down some, but instead, it got worse. Horace navigated the traffic like a maniacal NASCAR racer, sifting through thriftily and skilfully but barely losing any momentum at all. Arthur appeared as if he was going to be sick.

"Red light! Red light!" Alfred shrieked in alarm. Screeeech! They landed neatly right behind the white line. Both the passengers in the back seat breathed a long sigh of relief. Yao twisted his head back and laughed a little.

"Are you alright?" came a female voice from over Yao's phone, which was still in the middle of a call with Gilbert's. It was Elizabeta. She sounded a little wheezy herself. "Gil asks how many are on your tail?"

"...Alright? Who...are we even running from?" Alfred choked out. His head was still spinning.

"Black Ford. Five cars down, one lane to the left. Man in black suit. Speaking on the phone as of thirty-two seconds ago." Horace rattled off details like an agent reporting the situation. "One tail as of right now."

"Okay. Well, we've got four. So consider yourselves lucky." She hung up.

"Considering that's the plan in the first place, I think it's quite a success." Arthur had finally regained his ability to speak.

"Wh-what plan? What the hell is going on? Arthur!" Alfred couldn't take it anymore. It seemed as if he was always in the dark about something. No matter how hard he tried, he still didn't know anything about Arthur. Arthur, the one he was in love with.

"That," Arthur said, training his tired eyes on Alfred, "is why I was hiding from my mum."

"Your _mother_ did this? Does she want you dead or something?"

"Not dead. But for me, it's all the same." Arthur seemed to have also regained his endearing sarcasm.

"What do you mean?" Alfred pursued, a deep frown pressing down on his bright blue eyes.

"I'll...explain later," Arthur muttered, suddenly fidgety and uncomfortable again. Then-

"Aaaahhhh!" They zoomed off again. Even faster this time.

"Sorry! We have to lose them before he's sure you're in this car!" Yao shouted to them from the front.

Screech! A sharp turn to the left. Alfred thought he felt the car tip a little as they swerved through the lanes. After making several more turns, each more extreme than the last, Horace finally announced, "I think we lost him. For now." He slowed down to a more comfortable speed (though it was still a cut above the speed limit) and cruised down a wide but mostly vacant road at his leisure. "We'll wait a little longer," he said. "But if push comes to shove..." At this moment, Alfred noticed his hand snake around a black, mechanised shape wedged between the grey leather of the car seat and the gear shift.

"Is that a_ gun_?" he yelped, drawing back. Arthur seemed to have noticed the same thing, but remained relatively unfazed. He made it seem like it was normal to have a gun casually wedged in the car.

"Yes. Sorry for frightening you," Yao said with an apologetic smile, and then turned to his cousin, "Horace, we don't need that here."

"Uh...Yao. I think you owe me an explanation," Arthur spoke up.

"Ah! Right! I almost forgot!" the Chinese man exclaimed. "Right. Don't be scared, but...the truth is that we're Chinese mafia."

A long pause._ "WHAT?" _Scrutinising Yao, Alfred just couldn't...he seemed too harmless. His petite stature and almost effeminate features. His hair, grown long into a ponytail, and large, brown eyes. And his personality, too. He was perhaps one of the happiest and friendliest people Alfred knew.

"Uh...yes...I said not to be scared," he said with a sheepish laugh, then continued, "My father is actually the leader of a very powerful clan. Horace is my cousin, but he's also my bodyguard. But don't worry! I'm don't mean any harm. Horace and I tested out of China fair and square to get away from my father's regime. He is too cruel."

"You actually expect me to believe you?" Arthur frowned sceptically.

"In fact, Mr. Kirkland, you should be the less doubtful one. If we are not who we are, how would we have known who _you_ are?" Horace answered monotonously.

The colour in Arthur's face drained away in a split second, then gushed back a little too rapidly. He seemed lost for words. But Alfred was more concerned about something else. What did he mean who Arthur was? Alfred just realised that he had no idea who Arthur was. His secrets, his lies...

"How do you know, then?" Arthur asked, recovering an ounce of composure.

"I have to be very careful about the people around me, Arthur," Yao explained with a smile, "Especially my employer. There are many people who want to kill me. London is a darker place than you think. But I've come here to study computer science, so I prefer to live as I do now. And hopefully hereafter. I'm tired of my father's exploitation of the poor. I don't want to be part of it."

Alfred sucked in a deep breath and leaned back in his seat. Was he the only normal guy here? This was insane! But exhilarating. For 20 years, Alfred had the ideal life. He had barely known any turmoil, besides the occasional teenage tantrum over something insignificant. But now...now...he had discovered so much in just a single year. How vast was this world! And London was like a world within the world, fast-moving and spontaneous in its ever-changing glory. It had its own rhythm and own life, just like any part of the earth. Only it had slowly become Alfred's rhythm and life as well.

"Bloody-! On the right! No, left! Both!" Arthur panicked. Alfred's eyes flashed to the rear view mirror. Arthur was right. Three identical cars were gaining on them, two on the right and one on the left. Midnight-coloured Fords outlined by the glare of the street lights.

"Should I use it?" Horace asked, hands tightening on the gun's grip.

"No! They're not trying to kill anybody," Yao answered in exasperation. It seemed as if Horace had inherited more mafia blood than Yao. "Just drive!" Horace nodded solemnly, and- bam! stomped down hard on the accelerator.

"Holy shit! Horace!"

"I apologise!" Yao said quickly.

"I'm from Hong Kong*," Horace said as if that would explain everything.

"They're still on us, Horace," Yao sounded more annoyed than worried. "Those men are too persistent."

"Well, they've been searching for a year. That might explain why," Arthur added sardonically.

Ringing blared out between the vroom and screech. It was Yao's phone.

"Hello?" Yao screamed into the speaker.

"Hey, two cars suddenly dropped us about five minutes ago." It was Gilbert.

"Yes, that would explain the three cars behind us right now," Yao replied. "They're tight on our tail, too."

"Send me your exact location. I think I'm just one street over. I'll try to slow them."

"What are you-"

"Just do it! Quickly!" He hung up with a beep.

Yao did as was told.

"Oh, no...Gil, you crazy git..." Arthur groaned, shaking his head. "He's going to do something mad. I can hear it in his voice." Alfred's stomach tightened a little. At times like these, he always wished that he had met Arthur sooner. Gotten to know him better. Been given more time. More of a chance. Maybe then he would be on equal footing with Gilbert.

They sped down the street, the traffic gradually thinning as they went. Without other cars to buffer, their pursuers pushed ever closer, with one car nearly at their rear. "Damn! They're catching up! Horace, go faster!" Yao urged, stubbornly competitive. Horace abided by his instruction and rammed his foot down even harder. They lurched forward violently. Alfred made a gagging noise as the seatbelt pulled back into his stomach once again.

Yao twisted his head around to look behind them. The three Fords had spread out across the two lanes, the closest one still tight on their tail. The other two had lagged behind by quite some distance. "Yellow light! _Yellow!_" Arthur wailed as the car approached a busier intersection. Instead of slowing down, Horace steadily accelerated.

"Brace yourselves," Alfred heard Horace say, before-

Flash! They zoomed past the line a millisecond before the light changed colours. Unexpectedly, screech! from behind. Alfred and Arthur both twisted their heads around just in time to see two other identical black Fords, from the street perpendicular to theirs, cut into the intersection, intercepting two of their pursuers, who had to stomp down on their brakes in emergency. Their four unfortunate pursuers spun around a few times in the middle of the crossroad, thrown awry by the momentum, as cars honked at them from all directions. There was now only one car still chasing them with unwavering determination.

"What was that?" Alfred burst out, wide-eyed.

"I think _those _were the two other cars tailing Gil," Arthur said with an impressed grin on his face.

"What?"

As soon as he said this, Yao's phone began to ring again.

"How was that for a show?" came Gilbert's smug rasp, followed by Elizabeta's excited _"DID YOU SEE THAT?" _

"You just ran a red light!" Arthur insisted, but couldn't hide the thrill in his voice.

"Ja. So? It was worth it."

"Don't worry. We'll take care of whatever trouble you might run into with the police," Yao promised. Alfred didn't dare question what he meant by that.

"Erm...I don't see how, but alright?"

"How did you do that?"

"I played a little numbers game, you can say. It was mostly luck, though. All I had to do was find the road that would intersect yours, then it at the exact second after you came through, cut between you and those two cars behind you. And of course, the two idiots tailing us would follow and cut their own men off. Well, Eliza and I are out of here. We've done all we can. Good luck." He hung up.

Arthur shook his head, smiling to himself. "He never changes, that nutter..."

"Don't relax yet. There's still one more to go," Horace warned, then banked sharply to the right. Alfred groped for the handle and hung on as they turned onto a smaller road away from central London. Horace wound through the maze-like streets, manoeuvring around barriers expertly, as they tried to shake their tail. They managed to pull some distance between them and the Ford. They remained far enough ahead that they would temporarily lose sight of the other car each time they made a turn.

"We can't completely shake him," Horace concluded. "But we can stall for you."

"Huh? What do you mean stall?" Arthur was doubtful. Neither Horace nor Yao answered. Instead, Horace drove the car into a side alley. A few minutes in, Horace screeched to a stop. The alley was blocked off halfway by a fence of metal mesh. "Get out. Quickly."

Both Yao and Horace slipped out of the car, and their two passengers followed suit. "Do you think you can climb over?" Yao asked, eyes aimed upward at the top of the fence.

"Over that?" Arthur appeared a bit frightened as he estimated the height.

"Yes, that," Horace said, exercising his wrists as if in preparation for something. Yao, too, was doing some stretches.

"It's been a while," Yao explained when he caught Alfred staring with a puzzled expression.

"Wait...you guys are..."

"We'll buy you some time. Hopefully, the men in the other cars won't converge on us. I made sure to check, and there were three men in that car behind us. It shouldn't be too bad," Yao shrugged.

Arthur stared with wide, dumbfounded eyes. He seemed too stunned to move. "Arthur! C'mon! They're buying us time, so don't waste it!" Alfred reminded him, taking him by the arm and pulling him towards the metal fence.

"Th-thank you!" Arthur stuttered before Alfred lifted him up onto the fence so he could go over with more easily. Alfred knew how much Arthur would hate getting his good clothes dirty and worse, torn. On the other hand, Alfred enjoyed how easily he could boost the Briton up the gate. He weighed relatively little for a man.

It turned out, however, that Arthur was much more agile than Alfred had expected. He flipped over the metal fence and hopped down, landing lightly but steadily on his two feet. Right at this moment, the black Ford abruptly appeared and screeched to a stop before the opening of the alley and the three men sprang out like ferocious, black leopards. Yao and Horace readied themselves, straining their eyes into the dimly-lit alleyway. Alfred began to scramble up the fence without delay.

"There he is!" one man shouted, spotting Arthur behind the metal mesh. "Quickly! Get him!"

Alfred slid down the mesh fence after flipping over the top and grabbed Arthur's hand the moment he landed next to him. "C'mon!"

And they were running. Together. Like the wind that blew through ever-expanding city streets. It felt like freedom, the two of them running together, the thrill of the chase impelling their heartbeats to catch up to their clattering footsteps. Down the London streets, quietly glowing with slumbering life, the streetlights becoming streaks of effervescent yellow and cyan in their peripheral vision. It was just the two of them, sprinting through this big, empty, full city, the rush of the wind against their cheeks. It was a sensation so real, more real than anything Alfred had felt before. As they slowed to a stop, gasping for breath on the pavement near a convenience store, Alfred squeezed the hand that was tightly bound by his own, and watched the subtle dynamics in Arthur's countenance. It sent an electric shock through his body. So brilliant and dramatic were those green eyes as the headlights of passing cars played games with the colour of his pupils.

Alfred became trapped in the green. He realised that he had been trapped all along. Enraptured by its charismatic changes and spontaneous flamboyance. He raised Arthur's hand to his lips and kissed it lightly. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said those things to you." He allowed himself to sound slightly abashed. "I was stupid and jealous. So please. Give me another chance."

Without warning, Arthur swung his arms around Alfred's neck and buried that perfect nose of his in Alfred's neck. "You git..." came his muffled words. Then he let go just as immediately, before Alfred—taken aback— could react.

"It's partly my fault, too," Arthur muttered, "I was never honest with you...I have a lot to explain to you..."

* * *

_**Rewind about half an hour to the middle of the car chase...**_

"Go left! Left!"

Screech! Gilbert banked to the right, making the turn a split second before an oncoming car sped by.

"I said left!" Elizabeta shouted into his ear from the passenger's seat.

"Eliza! Please!" Gilbert squinted into the rear view mirror. The four pursuers had been unshakeable so far, even if they were a good few cars behind. Gilbert was confident that there was no way they could outrun his Mercedes and its superior engine, but this wasn't an autobahn* where he could release the full speed of his car. It was London past midnight, full of twists and turns with only streetlights to guide his way. It was going to take a lot more than just engine power to win this chase.

So Gilbert decided to take them on a joy ride, making random turns wherever he wanted and going around and around in circles. He didn't want to get too far from Arthur's current location, which, according to a rough estimate, should be only a few intersections down. This way, he could still take Arthur in if need be.

"Erm...Gilbert? Two of them are gone..." Elizabeta said, puzzled. Gilbert knitted together his pale grey brows and concentrated his eyes again on the rear view mirror. Indeed, two of the four Fords had disappeared.

"What?" Gilbert was nonplussed. They had been fully persistent until that very last turn. _Why would...?_ They lurched to a violent stop on the empty night streets as Gilbert made a frenzied, illegal U-turn. The two cars that remained behind his tail rushed to catch up.

"Whooaaa!" Elizabeta fell forward, back, and forward again. "Hey! Watch it!"

"Eliza, dial Yao on my phone and put it on speaker," he ordered. "Do it now!" She grumbled a complaint under her breath, but followed his instructions anyway. The dial tone rang for two seconds, then Yao picked up with a click.

"Hello?" came the Chinese man's unruffled voice.

"Hey, two cars suddenly dropped us about five minutes ago," Gilbert yelled into the speaker.

"Yes, that would explain the three cars behind us right now. They're tight on our tail, too."

Gilbert gritted his teeth. An outlandish, no, _insane _notion had been slowly morphing into shape in his mind. Crazy, nearly impossible, and definitely illegal_. Scheiβe...at this point, I have to give it a shot, or Arthur won't be able to get away. We've been working at this for so long, I can't let this one moment ruin the rest of his life. But if I really do this... There's no time to think!_ "Send me your exact location. I think I'm just one street over. I'll try to slow them," he said, biting each syllable with cacophonous precision.

"What are you-"

"Just do it!" he seethed, hands gripping the wheel tightly. Sweat was seeping out from his palm. "Quickly!" He hung up, and half a minute later he received Yao's text message with the positioning attached. He handed the phone to Elizabeta and asked her to read it out loud while the complicated gears in his head spun like a train loose from its track. "Good...good, that sounds about right. Perfect, actually..." he mumbled to himself, his focus on the road ahead fluctuating with his trembling hands. For the first time in a long while, he was nervous. _No time to be nervous...no time...you owe me your life, Arthur. _

He glanced at the rear view mirror. He had pulled ahead far enough that the two Fords blended in with the dimly-lit streets behind him, fuzzy in the distance. "Eliza," he uttered through gritted teeth, "I'm about to do something mad. I'm going to stop by the road and I need you to get out."

"No!" Her answer was unhesitating and unrelenting, more ferocious than he had expected. He tried to swallow a lump in his throat.

"Eliza, listen, you've had your fun-"

"Had my _fun_? Is that what you think this is to me?" she suddenly flared. "Is this why you think I'm sitting next to you right now?"

"...Well..." Gilbert was lost for words. He hadn't a single clue why she insisted on coming with him on this death chase. He had assumed it was another unprompted whim of hers. He had given up trying to understand her at all. But now was not the time to spoil her. Not with her safety at risk.

"Gilbert Beilschmidt. Who do you think I am?" she burst out, hurt echoing her voice. "I've known how dangerous this is the moment I stepped in the car! I'm not an idiot! I may not know what's going on, but I do know that it has to do with Arthur's safety and that you're trying to save him from something! So I'm not going to leave you no matter what stupid, crazy thing you're going to do!"

Gilbert said nothing, only made a swift turn to the left. Aside from the deafening engine and the screeching of the wheels, the car was void of sound. For once in his life, the great Gilbert Beilschmidt had nothing to say. He only knew that his heart was beating against his chest like a battle drum. Vicious, brutal, and most of all, ready. His hand on the wheel steadied. And he uttered two small words, "Prepare yourself."

Instead of accelerating, he slowed and allowed their pursuers to catch up. The two Fords happily seized the chance. _According to my calculations, the engine of Yao's BMW, the engine of the Fords, and my engine...it should be right about..._He squinted at the traffic light far ahead. _Yellow. Red. Good. They should almost be at this crossroad, coming in from the intersecting road on my left. Perfect...with my acceleration rate verses the Fords'...I should be able to cut through if I time it correctly. _As he neared the intersection, he decelerated even more, allowing the Ford directly behind to near the boot of his car. He felt Elizabeta tense beside him, gripping on to the grab handle to brace herself. She knew what was coming.

He pretended to slow to a stop at the intersection, but only enough to confirm the silver shadow that was Yao's BMW, a second away from zooming past, and a split second to register the three cars chasing the silver shadow. And even less to ram his foot on the accelerator the moment he saw that flash of silver pass before his eyes. Whoosh! They were speeding past like lightning, the numbers on the speedometer climbing by the millisecond. Farther and farther away from the intersection. They continued. Unscathed. And finally, he realised. Gilbert screeched to a stop at the next exit and pulled into a petrol station. He sat there, breathing hard, crimson eyes wide with amazement under the yellowish streetlights. He turned his head to Elizabeta, who wore the same stupefied expression. Red eyes met green. Then-

"WE DID IT!"

"WE DID IT!"

"WE'RE NOT DEAD! WE'RE NOT DEAD! GOTT, I LOVE THIS ENGINE! IT WAS THE BEST MONEY I EVER SPENT!"

They yelped and hollered in exhilaration, invigorated by their triumph, jumping up and down in their car seats, completely oblivious to the angry orchestra of honking only one intersection away. They had done it. Escaped with their lives intact. Right now, Gilbert felt absolutely invincible.

"Oh, Gott...Gott..." he breathed, his chest shaking uncontrollably with laughter. And soon, the car was full of it. His loud rasp and her high chime, chorusing together. They laughed until they were in tears, until their stomachs began to ache. Right now, he hadn't a care in the world for anything. Just Elizabeta and himself in this car, laughing. It was a moment that would never really end in his mind. A moment he could always revisit.

After about five minutes of hoots and howls, they finally regained some level of composure. And Gilbert noticed that he had a powerful urge to-

"Hey, let's go for drinks," he said, leaning back in the driver's seat, red eyes shining with enthusiasm. Some cool beer would really be nice right now, he thought.

"Drinks?" Elizabeta snorted. "What pub is still open at this hour?" She rolled her eyes at him half-teasingly.

"Well...hmmm. How about your place then? You have beer, right?" He suddenly regretted the fact that he wasn't allowed to bring girls back to the flat. Not even as a friend. Although it was a little unkempt to bring anybody into...But he soon realised she was looking at him oddly, with a slightly quizzical frown puckering her forehead. He quirked a silver eyebrow in response.

"What? It's just drinking. We didn't get any after work, so we might as well. To celebrate," he grinned again. She pursed her lips in contemplation, still uncertain. "Oh, come on! It's just like when we watch football*! Except...without the football!"

"Well...Bella _is_ gone tonight...to her friend's house apparently..." Elizabeta mumbled. Gilbert knew that she was giving in. Just one more push should do it...

"Well, I don't see what the big deal is, here. Is your room messy, huh? Are you afraid I'll see it? Or is it something else? A boyfriend? Are you keeping secrets?" he challenged. The strategy of provocation was a 98% hit with Elizabeta.

This earned him a merciless smack on the head. "Don't be stupid. Of course not. Let's go now, then." Score! He smirked victoriously and started the car. Soon enough, they were cruising down the road smoothly. Gilbert turned on the radio and Elizabeta flipped through all the stations before she settled on the one she began with. Just as she always did. This felt right, thought Gilbert, as they made their way through the sleeping city.

* * *

_"Prost*__!"_ Clink!

"To our miraculous escape!" they cheered, beer bottles raised over their heads. Then, both threw their heads back and downed a massive gulp. The malty fizz of the beer gripped her tongue. Liquid bread, the old saying goes. Elizabeta knew for sure now that the old saying was right. Nothing ever tasted so good in her life as she sat cross-legged on the floor next to Gilbert with a bottle of her best beer she had been saving up for Christmas. It was worth it.

"Ahahaha! I really do hope that Arthur got away though," Gilbert laughed as he wiped the corner of his mouth. Only half his bottle remained after his first swig as opposed to Elizabeta's 3/4. He was a high-tolerance drinker, Elizabeta had to admit. She could never beat him, no matter how close she came on his birthday two years ago...Elizabeta fondly recalled their drinking contests on Christmas Eve that would always make them so wasted they would go home to their families hung over the next day. It was always poor Ludwig who got stuck with the two of them. They would be completely ill and barely coherent as Ludwig, sighing, would drag them up in the morning to get to the airport on time.

"Arthur should be fine," Elizabeta chided, taking another sip of her beer. But she didn't want to drink too much tonight. She wanted to remain as sober as possible so she could watch him drink. It was her guilty pleasure. There was an indescribable, underlying beauty in the way he tipped his bottle in carefree glory. Frenzied and ecstatic. It was raw passion, perhaps the closest he was to ever being in love. There was something so profoundly romantic in the way he sank into intoxication that Elizabeta found herself unabashedly addicted to it.

"Ah, that's so good," he breathed. Before she knew it, he had already moved on to a second bottle. She was tempted to scold him for his wild drinking habits, but stopped herself at the last second. If she did that, all he would do was drink even more just to prove her wrong. _Let him get drunk...what do I care? He's much more obedient when he's drunk anyway. Meanwhile, I could just sit and watch...and maybe reap some benefits from this..._An idea hit her out of nowhere. This was the perfect situation. When he was vulnerable. There were a few things she would like to find out...

After about ten more bottles, Gilbert's consciousness had significantly down-spiralled into near-oblivion. Elizabeta decided that it was finally safe to do what she had been patiently biding her time for. A question and answer session. There was an entire minefield of questions she desperately wanted to ask him. So many that she was sure if they were stacked vertically towards the sky, they would reach the moon. She just hoped that his head would be clear enough in this state to give her an honest answer_. Alright, let's have some fun, Gilbert..._

"Hey, Gil..." She decided to start out with care, exploring his level of awareness first.

"Ja?" He was on his fourteenth bottle, swaying a little unsteadily.

"What size pants* do you wear?" she giggled.

"Huh? Erm...Medium? I don't...remember the exact measurement..." His words came out a little slurred and his eyes were slight unfocused, swivelling back and forth like he was lost. Perfect.

"Brand?" she urged, biting back the strong urge to burst into laughter.

"Uh...I don't know...Italian?" She snickered uncontrollably and opened another bottle for him. It just so happened to be ale. He took it without noticing.

"So...what type of girls do you like?" She bit her lip, hoping that she wasn't pushing it too far.

"Huh?" He frowned, as if carefully pondering an issue, but still thoroughly oblivious. "Nice body," he finally nodded. Elizabeta gave him a slightly disdainful look._ That was all you were able to come up with after that long?_

"You're such a pervert," she grumbled.

"Hey! ...Not that much!" he protested dazedly.

"Well, fine then, Mr. Not-that-much," she continued, chewing on her bottom lip rather peevishly, "What..." she cleared her throat, embarrassed, "exactly constitutes a 'nice body'?" _That got sexual way too fast..._

"Whaaaa? Speak up!"

"I said what do you consider a 'nice body'?"

"Oh! That's easy," he grinned dazedly, "...Erm...I like...and..." She felt her cheeks grow hotter as she listened to him list off a long, detailed description of what kind of woman would enjoy sleeping with. _Was I looking to get jealous? _It was excruciating, and made her intestines twist up into knots, but the actual challenge was what remained to be said after he had finished.

"...What about me?" She had finally forced it out of her system. She prayed to God Gilbert remembered none of this when he woke up. Not even a single minute detail.

"...Huh? Waddaya mean..." He was scrutinising the ceiling closely with a perplexed frown, as if distracted by an excessively entangling predicament.

"I mean...would you do it with me?" All the blood was gushing to her face. Up, up, and up, into her head. She cursed gravity for not coming to her rescue. But there was no going back now.

He said nothing for a long, long time. Only sat there frowning at the ceiling with his head tilted slightly to the side. Then, without warning, he dropped his head back down to eye-level and trained his handsome red eyes straight on her face. For a moment, Elizabeta feared he had somehow become sober. Until he suddenly leaned in close, their noses almost touching, and cupped her face in his hands. He only stared, as if cautiously observing every small curvature and speck. A shiver travelled down her spine at his touch. She could only stare back, wide-eyed and tense. Their faces had never been so close before. She could observe each and every silver eyelash. And the crimson irises. They weren't just one shade of red. It was a spectrum, from carmine to velvet.

They didn't move for a long stretch of stillness. It was calming to Elizabeta. The feeling of his hot breath on her face. Then, his lips finally parted in conclusion, "You have big, pretty eyes."

She blinked, caught unawares, her rhythm immediately thrown asunder once again. How did he manage to sound so seductive when he was drunk?

"Y-you still didn't answer my question!" She quickly pushed his hand away. It left a gaping emptiness where its warmth had been.

"Huh?" He was utterly lost.

She sighed, knowing now that he was beyond the point of no return. If she counted correctly, he had had exactly 21 bottles of beer. It was useless to reason with him now.

"I said- You know what, never mind!"

"...Liza...Are you okay?" he slurred, then began to laugh, "Ahahaha...your face is all red...haha..." Elizabeta bit down hard on her lip. _He's so clueless right now. If I just...no, jumping him when he's drunk won't do me any good. But...just one kiss. He won't remember it. Right, just one. _

"Gilbert...l-look at me," she stammered. Her heart seized up like a fist, then released again. Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

"Ja?" He turned towards her, accidently knocking down a few empty beer bottles as he did. She had no idea what she was doing."Wha-" he started, puzzled, as she inched her face closer. _It's all your fault, Dummkopf! Letting your guard down like that! I'm a girl, too, you know, not just your friend. That's right, this is your fault! You came over and got yourself drunk! That's practically an invitation!_

Their lips touched. He tasted strongly of beer. Smelled like it, too, but with a slight hint of something burnt, Elizabeta thought. But at this point she wasn't really thinking at all. Rational thinking was something people did when they were idle and unfeeling. Elizabeta didn't need it now. Her heart was too full. And before she knew it, he pushed her to the ground. She locked her arms securely around his neck, letting her fingers entangle themselves in his sterling white hair.

After she didn't know how long, he broke away and moved down to kiss her neck, then collarbone. She acquiesced, gasping to catch her breath. Her brain was a disoriented muddle. Nothing made sense. Only his body heat. His skin. She could do nothing else but succumb. Because all she knew was...

"Gil..." she breathed, "Gil...bed..." He hoisted her up from the floor so she saddled atop his waist. They stumbled into her room without breaking the kiss and toppled onto the bed together. Falling into an ocean of lust and passion.

Just one kiss. Right?

* * *

Rustle. Rustle. Movement. The wonderful warmth she held in her arms slipped away. Elizabeta opened her eyes a crack. It was still dark. Weak moonlight streamed in from the window and illuminated his bare back, playing tricks on her hazy vision. His silvery hair seemed to glisten. She blinked hard, then rubbed her tired eyes. It wasn't just her imagination. He pulled up his trousers as she watched him from behind.

Elizabeta propped herself up in bed with her elbow. "Gil...what're you doing?" she mumbled groggily. "Get back in bed, it's the middle of the night." Somewhere in the back of her head, she was growing unsettled.

He jumped, startled, and whipped around. "...Elizabeta..." The way he fixed his crimson eyes upon her in the dark made her chest give a painful lurch. They were so...sad. There was no other way to describe it. His lips parted, struggling to form words with his mouth.

"I-I...Elizabeta, I'm so...I'm so sorry," he finally managed. It hit her with a pang. Sorry? He was sorry. She could only stare back blankly. "I...I'm sorry! We were drunk and I didn't know what I was doing...and oh, _Gott_, it was a horrible mistake, Eliza."

Her face darkened, hands gripping the bed sheets in tight fistfuls. She was beginning to regret this. "No," she said in a low voice, "No. _You_ were drunk."

"W-what do you mean...?"

"I mean that _you_ were drunk. I wasn't," she admitted_. But you were the first one to stick your tongue in my mouth... _

"Elizabeta...why? What...? Why didn't you stop me?" Elizabeta didn't know why, but his eyes seemed to brim with fear under the dim, frigid moonlight. He was so horrified. Perhaps it was only her eyes playing tricks. Perhaps all of this was a trick. She wasn't sure anymore.

She bit her lip, ducking her head so he couldn't see the injured expression on her face. _There's no turning back now..._"Because...because, Gilbert! You...stupid...I...I love you..." Her voice cracked at those last three words, only because his eyes grew wider with terror still.

"...Oh...no...Elizabeta, no..." he stuttered, overwhelmed. "That's...I...no, Eliza. That...can't possibly..."

"Why are you saying that?" she burst out. The tears began to flow, then, blurring her vision. His red eyes became fuzzy, but the horror they portrayed did not.

He didn't answer for a long time. Silence. The stillness was deadly, like a knife. Then, finally, he spoke. "I'm sorry, Elizabeta. But I'm wrong. I'm wrong. I'm sorry." Monotony. That was all she heard in his voice. He averted his eyes in regret. Or was it sympathy? She didn't need it. She didn't need his sympathy. She didn't need _him _at all!

"Go then! Just leave like you were going to anyway! Go!" she shrieked. "I don't need you in my life!" She grabbed her pillow and hurled it at his face. She hated him. Why was he so emotionless? So cruel? Dastardly, callous, wretched...

He caught the pillow and placed it gingerly back on the bed. Then he shook his head and apologised again. "I'm sorry, Elizabeta. Goodbye."

* * *

1 Grab handle- that thing on the side ceiling of a car that you can grab onto. It's really called this.

2 Okay, so this is kind of a joke, but if you've ever been to Hong Kong (or any Chinese city for that matter) you have to drive like a real boss to get around, or else you'll be stuck in traffic forever.

3 Autobahn- for those of us who don't know Germany that well, autobahn is their national expressway system. There is no set speed limit, only a suggested range (leave it to the Germans…).

4 For North Americans- soccer

5 Prost- cheers! Usu. for beer. (German)

6 For North Americans: pants=underwear

* * *

_**Yay, chapter six! Things are finally picking up. I know that I could have dragged a lot of things on a bit longer, but there's still a whole lot of twisted storyline left and i'm no novelist, so I'm going to speed through things fast. PAY ATTENTION TO DETAIL because there's a lot of subtle hints I put in. ^^ Also, don't be stupid and NEVER DO THAT CAR CHASE AT HOME because GILBERT IS A NUTTER AND JUST DON'T DO IT because the chances of that succeeding is so slim I'm not even gonna bother calculating the probability! DO NOT SPEED, CHILDREN, OR GET DRUNK AND SLEEP WITH YOUR BEST FRIEND (unless of course something miraculous happens that makes you find your soul mate. Then, feel free and go ahead).**_

_**And now... [Insert Disclaimer from Chapter 1] Okay, so once again I thank my awesome friend The Strawberry whom I'm seeing in about two hours! I also thank England, my God of Literary Inspiration, for doing such a good job with the Olympics opening ceremony. The industrial revolution (one of my favourite historical eras, partly because it stars, that's right, GREAT BRITAIN, great for a reason my friends) and then Kenneth Branagh read Shakespeare, and then JK Rowling was there and so was DAVID BECKHAM (I am a HUGE football fan). One last shout out and that is to civil rights and women's suffrage! I just finished reading The Help for my upcoming US history class and it is not only WONDERFUL but also made me tear up a little by the end. America, why you gotta come so late to the game in giving women voting rights? So, EQUALITY FOR ALL! **_

_**By the time this is posted, I will be in CALIFORNIA where all da Asians are so I'll feel right at home, and I'll also be in Little Tokyo BUYING FANDOM STUFF HOPEFULLY THERE'S HETALIA *HOLDS BREATH AND CROSSES FINGERS*. And guess what else there is in California...that's right...PANDAS! My favouritest animal ever, which I used to be able to see like every week when I lived in China and very much near Hong Kong, and now I just see them yearly *cries deeply* But don't worry I'll be keeping up with my weekly updates of this story, so read/review/enjoy! :DDDD**_


	7. Chapter 7: Their Predicament

_**This is the beginning of a three-chapter long climax/ending! This chapter is mostly USUK with some short PruHun. But a lot is being revealed...so...Enjoiiii~~~**_

* * *

Gilbert barged into the flat, his feet moving in hasty, long strides, his breaths short and rapid. The thrumming headache and buzz in his ears, remnants of last night's drinking, had become sensations he was barely conscious to. Because there was a hole in his chest. A bottomless pit. And he was falling fast. The sensation of loss. Loss of something solid he had clung on to for as long as he could remember. Breaking. Losing. Falling apart. He soon realised that the hole was his heart. He needed to escape. He didn't want this hole. It was going to swallow him. He was going to fall in. He didn't want to be here. Not here, of all places, with familiar people and familiar faces. He didn't want to see those faces. He didn't want to see love.

"Gil? Gil...it's 5 am..." the familiar figure of Antonio Hernandez Carriedo appeared in the flat's small corridor, yawning and scratching his head. He was stark naked except for his pants.

"What is it? Disturbing my sleep like that..." hissed an annoyed, groggy voice. And who else but Lovino Vargas who appeared in the corridor beside Antonio, only half-dressed himself. Then, his eyes fell on Gilbert. He shrieked and hid behind Antonio in a flash.

"I-It's not what it looks like! W-we...!"

"It's exactly what it looks like," came Francis's smooth drawl from the bedroom across the corridor, peaking his silky, blonde head out the door with an irritated scowl.

"Antonio, I thought we agreed 'no girls in the flat'!" Francis scolded. "That's it, you're cleaning the toilet for two months."

"What? I'm not a girl, _bastardo!_ Take a good look!" Lovino suddenly jumped out from behind Antonio and lunged for Francis, who sidestepped him with an easy horizontal swoop.

"You know what I mean," he continued, as if completely oblivious to Lovino's accusations.

"Ah...but he's not a girl!" Antonio groaned, "That's not fair!"

"This is a strictly no-sex zone, Antonio," he said, despite the obvious irony. "But never mind that." He turned back to Gilbert, and, as he opened his mouth to speak, finally noticed that something was wrong. Very wrong. It wasn't Gilbert's bloodshot pupils and the dark bruises under his eyes that worried Francis the most, but the dullness of his expression that gave him a scare. Gilbert was apathetic, staring through the three of them straight into...nothing. He wasn't seeing anything at all. It was as if his soul had up and left him for heaven.

"Gilbert?" Francis began with a deepening frown. "Gil, what's the matter?"

Gilbert said nothing. Because it would be impossible to answer his question. The fact of the matter was that he had just lost his anchor. His sense. His logic. The order of his world. And the actual matter? It was beyond his comprehension.

"Gil?" Antonio walked over with worried green eyes. He waved a hand in front of Gilbert's face. "Gil, what happened?"

Francis's eyes narrowed sharply as he scrutinised the distracted man in front of him. It could only mean one thing. "Gilbert, what happened with Elizabeta?"

At her name, the remaining colour drained from his face. His entire being seemed to turn rigid. Then, slowly, his lips parted to form monotonous words. "I have to go."

Antonio was confused. "Go? Go where? You just got home."

Gilbert began shaking his head. "No. No," he kept repeating, and dashed past the three of them into his own room. He emerged a short while later with a rucksack over his shoulder and a fresh change of clothes. "Sorry. I have to go." His voice was cold. As if his heart was not there. He strode past the three of them (who were still crowded in the small corridor) in harried steps.

Francis caught his shoulder as he passed. "Hey! Wait!" But Gilbert shook him off and was out the door before anyone could say another word.

* * *

The dorm room was small and rather cramped. How he had managed to fit a mountain of clutter into such a small space was unfeasible to Arthur, but at least the bed was neatly made and free of the mess strewn across the rest of the room. The narrow, single-person bed was pushed up parallel against the wall, right next to the window. The windowsill was piled with DVDs and tapes. There was a bookshelf crammed with comic books and science fiction novels, fantasy adventures and sports' magazines. His desk was a plethora of drawers and cabinets, which were all filled with movies and computer games. On top of the desk was placed a large desktop, a laptop, and several pieces of equipment that Arthur assumed was for filming. Besides that, there were stacks and stacks of paperwork on top of textbooks. Arthur examined them a little closer. Most of them were drafted scripts.

"Ah...sorry it's a mess, though I've never really noticed until now...," Alfred grinned apologetically, "You probably hate it."

"You would be right." Arthur pursed his lips, hands on hips. "You should really learn to clean up after yourself."

"You could be at least a little less straightforward," Alfred grumbled, plopping down on the bed.

"Well, I'm just telling the truth," Arthur said matter-of-factly, wagging a finger. "I bet you don't need half of these things!"

"No! You're wrong!" Alfred protested. "I study film, I need references and stuff."_ Well, I guess that's sort of reasonable..._Arthur sat down next to him tentatively on the bed. He was too conscious of the proximity between them in this tiny dorm room. It felt like Alfred's breathing was almost tangible.

Ever since that incident over Gilbert in the park, Arthur couldn't help but face the unfortunate truth: he was in love. Again. And this time with an arguably more obnoxious git than the last. He didn't know what the matter was with himself. Was he a masochist? Or perhaps just an ordinary nutter? But the fact of the matter was that his heart couldn't help skipping a beat every time Alfred smiled at him with those sea-blue eyes, and that he couldn't help but feel miserable knowing that he had mistreated Alfred in every way possible, and that he couldn't help it when they were in bed together...Every time his train of thoughts got _there_, Arthur wanted to smash his own head against a wall. He felt for sure that there was someone throwing curves at him on purpose, and laughing all the while. So after going around and around in circles, he had finally reached a conclusion. He had to tell Alfred. Everything. From beginning to end. It was suffocating keeping it all on the inside. And what better place to confess all your biggest life secrets than in this minuscule square room of a dormitory? _Well, at least we don't have to run anymore...it's been a while since my last sprint...my legs are definitely going to hurt in the morning. _

Somehow, they had ended up only a few blocks away from the UCL dormitories after their exhilarating sprint. So of course, Alfred took him here without a second's hesitation.

"You were saying...that you needed to explain something," Alfred hinted not-so-subtly with a pleading smile. Arthur grumbled and averted his eyes. That smile had become his biggest weakness.

"Erm...yes, I did...w-where do I begin..."

"You can begin with why we were being chased across London by crazy secret agent men in black Fords about thirty minutes ago!"

"They're not secret agents. Don't let your imagination get away with you. They're just..." Arthur took a deep breath, "They're just men my mother hired to take me back. By force."

"Back?"

"Erm...about that..." Arthur scratched his head a little awkwardly. Anyone would sound mad if they blurted all the rubbish he was about to blurt.

"Arthur, you promised!"

"Okay! Alright...haven't any of you ever wondered how I keep up with studies and manage the Hub all at once?" _Just...ease into this._

"Um...we all assumed you're really smart."

Arthur sighed in exasperation. There was no easing into anything with this bloke. He doesn't get it. "While I appreciate the compliment...The truth is...I'm not attending classes at Imperial. Not anymore at least." He played with the corner of his shirt nervously. Alfred's eyes widen in shock. "My studies have been temporarily suspended. The reason I moved out and didn't tell anyone where I live is because of this. Well, partly..."

"Go on," the American urged eagerly.

"Don't...get hysterical if I tell you this." Alfred nodded. "My father is actually the Duke of _."

A long pause.

"_What?_ You're a duke?" Alfred boomed, accidentally hitting his head on the windowsill. He didn't seem to notice, but a torrent of discs spilled onto the bed.

"I said not to get hysterical!" Arthur yelled back. "I'm not a duke! Not yet at least. My father is," he continued to explain. "Technically, my title is earl*, but never mind!" Arthur rushed on at the baffled expression on Alfred's face. He hated it when people looked at him like that. It made him feel different, as if an automatic gap had formed between him and everyone else. "Ahem... I was saying...well, now I have to start from the very beginning..." And he did. He was born to a rich family of British nobility, egotistic and aristocratic. He was an only child, and the sole heir to every piece of property his father owned. Land, investments, and countless other assets. His father was a proud man, and his mother even prouder. They spoiled him since his birth with the best of everything that money could buy. From clothing to toys to cars. And so, his own blue-blooded prestige got to his head. Meanwhile, they filled him up with violin and piano, Shakespeare and Wordsworth, and eventually, Smith and Keynes.

"Wait...they made you read economic theory?"

Arthur blinked. "Why not? I mean...I've already read most of the classics by the time I turned 14, so why not move on to political and economic theory?" he shrugged. Alfred only gawked at him in disbelief.

"But, anyway, go on."

It wasn't until university that he began to see the world differently. Much to his mother's despair, he chose to go to Imperial, a school he got accepted into of his own merit. It was too far from home, she complained.

"I was sort of a git back then," he sighed, shaking his head.

But soon enough, he ran into Gilbert Beilschmidt. The one who had changed the course of his life forever (Alfred flinched and made a face).

"At first, he bothered me. He got all the attention wherever he went. With both students of both genders alike, and even with Professors. It wasn't until that we got into a rather, erm, heated debate about modern economics that he really earned my respect." Alfred gave him an of-course-it-would-be-like-that look. "Then, I found that I liked to talk to him. He had insight, a fresh perspective. I eventually realised that many things I believed in were backwards and narrow minded. Of course, I embraced the books after that just to catch up to him. But at that point, I realised that..." Arthur sucked in a deep breath and peered tentatively at the fascinated man sitting next to him, "Don't be angry...but I was in love with him."

_"...HA! I KNEW IT!"_ Alfred cried, his voice amplified by the claustrophobic room. He jabbed an accusatory finger in Arthur's face.

"I said not to be angry!"

"I'm not!"

"Look at your face! You're clearly sulking!" He _was_ sulking. And on top of that, he looked like he wanted to murder someone. Probably Gilbert.

"Listen to me! He's just stringing you along, Arthur! He only plays, he's never serious!" Alfred exclaimed, standing up in his excitement.

"No! Alf- Sit down!" Arthur ordered, pulling on the emotional man's arm. Alfred grudgingly settled down next to him on the bed again, a dark expression on his face.

"God! Don't get so carried away. Just listen. First of all, I _used _to be in love with him, not anymore. So just let it go! You're such a child!" Arthur sighed in exasperation. Alfred pouted. "Moving on...at that point, I realised that I was a...homosexual, which distressed me to the point of a near mental breakdown. I was disgusted with myself at first, since my sexual orientation was just something...not socially acceptable. Especially for, erm, someone like me. But Gilbert was... handsome and rich and intelligent," –Alfred made another face, which Arthur graciously ignored—,"and I couldn't deny it. But I knew from the beginning that I really had no chance, and the best that I could hope for was to remain his friend. Meanwhile, Francis, Antonio, Gilbert, and I moved in together and for the first time in my life, I had to do chores. And clean things. It was horrible, but none of the others were clean enough, so I had to clean everything for them. I always had maids and butlers...But on the bright side, it was hard to get lonely." There was a twinge of nostalgia in his tone. "I loved it. It was freedom for me, as if after all those years I finally had a breath of fresh air. I didn't tell anyone about my being an aristocrat because I didn't want to be seen as different...But I should have known things couldn't last long." He laughed disdainfully, then continued, "The summer after my second year at university, I brought Gilbert down to meet my parents, because my mother was nagging me for not surrounding myself with 'respectable company.' Well, I thought, Gilbert's perfectly respectable and perfectly rich, the way she liked it. He fit the criteria too well, so he became my only confidante. He always kept the secret, too, and never slipped up once. My parents liked Gilbert well enough, especially the business side of things, but what happened that summer..." He sighed again. It seemed like he was sighing for every tragedy he had ever encountered in his life. "When Gil and I were back home, we accidentally discovered something my father had been hiding for a very long time..."

They held a tennis tournament that day. Gilbert's arrival had intrigued several of the other (high-society) families around the area, so in honour of their guest, the Duke and Duchess arranged a social event in which all of those who were invited could partake. A special sort of tennis tournament, in which they partnered up to play doubles. Teams were eliminated by each game*.

"So, like a gathering of bored, rich people playing tennis in flashy shorts?" Alfred mused.

"Erm...pretty much..." Now that Arthur thought about it, that was exactly what it was.

He and Gilbert were playing as a team, he continued. They had just advanced to the final round and stopped for a short 20 minute break. Everyone was moving around and mingling while Arthur was looking for his father, who was nowhere to be found. His father's mobile phone that was left on the terrace patio had been ringing for quite some time. It was a number that Arthur did not recognise, so he assumed it was a business call. He remembered going around the perimeter of the entire manor (which was quite a long way) and ending up back where he had started, on the terrace with Gilbert, who was talking to a some girls ("Typical," Alfred muttered). He pulled Gilbert aside, and after staring at the ringing mobile for another minute or two, Gilbert convinced him just to take the call. _'Whoever it is, he's probably desperate, judging by the way it's ringing,'_ Gilbert had told him. So Arthur did. And Arthur remembered the conversation word for word.

_'Hello? William?' _

Arthur remembered thinking that something was strange. Who would call his father the Duke by his first name? Other than family. But he didn't recognise the voice on the phone. It was a mid-range and smooth female voice.

_'I'm sorry, he's not here right now.' _

A long pause.

_'Who is this?'_ the woman asked. She sounded grave.

'This is his son, the Earl of _. May I take a message?'

Click. She hung up.

"At that point I was already suspicious. But then about two minutes later, I got a call back from the same number," he said bitterly, beginning to recall that particular conversation. It had been etched into the back of his mind, easily retrievable like his address and phone number.

_'Hello?' _

_'Hey! You git! You made mum upset! How dare you!'_ a sharp voice screamed at him from the other end. It sounded like a young boy.

_'Hello? Who is this?.'_

_'ISN'T TAKING DAD ALL FOR YOURSELF ENOUGH? YOU GIT!" _

He hung up.

"At this point, I only sat there with my mouth half open, looking like an idiot. So Gil asked me if I had heat haze and shook me a few times until I fully responded. I remember sounding like a blithering idiot. I told him what I had heard on the phone and he became serious and told me to confront my father about it. I knew that was the best course of action, but I was so scared. I was so..." Arthur stopped and swallowed a mouthful of bitterness. He fell back on the bed and closed his eyes. He had been so frightened. That feeling that your entire world was breaking and crashing down on you was seared painfully into his memory. To be told that what you'd believed in your whole life was a lie. He had always loved his father, the dignified and upright man who knew so much about everything. That image was shattered into a million little pieces, like broken glass, in the matter of a few minutes. "Eventually, I did confront him. That night. And he didn't try to hide it from me. He had had another family he kept in secret for seven years. Seven whole years while I foolishly believed in his lies. But I could see in his eyes that he was truly sorry. So in order to console him, I said that I forgave him. But I never did forgive him, Alfred. I don't think I ever could. But I couldn't hate _them_, either. Victoria, the other woman, and my half-brother Peter." Arthur took out his mobile phone and scrolled through some pictures until he found the one of a naughty, little sandy-haired boy. He was a funny child, who didn't hesitate to express his hatred towards Arthur the first time Arthur had visited. But kindness got through to him in the end.

Arthur handed the phone to Alfred, who inspected it for a few minutes. Then, he chuckled, "Gosh, you guys have the same eyebrows."

"Oh! Will you...!" Arthur snatched back his phone, disgruntled. When will Alfred stop joking around?

"Hey, now who's sulking?" He sidled over and abruptly pulled Arthur into a tight hug. "I'm just playing, Artie. Ahahaha...mi' Lord!" Alfred kissed his cheek and laughed some more.

"You-I'm not your pretty little princess, you know!" Arthur yelled, struggling unsuccessfully to escape the American's vice-like grip.

"No, you're not," Alfred agreed, "You're my pretty little Lord." _Why does the 'pretty' and 'little' stay constant? _"But you still haven't explained why those crazy people were chasing us yet!" Alfred pouted.

"Be patient! I'm getting there! I'm retelling my life story, so at least show some respect!" Arthur fumed.

"Alright! Alright! Go on."

"So that was the first time I thought about not inheriting my family's title and estate. I've never once before questioned the path that my parents had laid out for me, which was to get a respectable education then return home and eventually inherit the title Duke. People in my field of study don't usually go on to study Master's until after gaining several years' job experience, you know. The only reason I moved on to postgraduate education (or am supposed to be) fresh out of university is because I'm not expected to actually use what I've learned, only acquire it. It's quite a waste, really. But I at least wanted to finish my four years in university first, so I went along pretending like everything was normal, feeling like a total wanker for hiding the affair from my mother. Just two more years, I kept telling myself, and I'm a free man. I had a sizeable amount of assets and investments under my name and I intended to make my own living. Gilbert always told me to take advantage of my massive inheritance, but doing that would just tie me down to the family. I thought things were going well...but it turned out that I didn't have enough insight. Because..." Another exasperated sigh. He was getting tired of sighing. "The summer after I graduated university, I went back home to visit as usual. And...I really should have expected this...but I found out that apparently, I was getting married."

_"WHAT? YOU'RE MARRIED?"_ Alfred practically fell off the bed, a ghastly expression on his face.

"No, you bloody tosser! Are you going to listen or not!" Arthur snapped. But all Alfred had time to comprehend was the 'no' and nothing else.

"Okay, okay...good. Because I'm not very experienced with eloping," he breathed, clutching his chest as he climbed back onto the bed. Arthur blushed a little and cleared his throat. _Elopement, huh..._

"Ahem, as I was saying...Mother wanted me to get married, which was obviously impossible for me. She's always been a madwoman about this sort of thing. Why she wanted me to get married so early is beyond me, but at that point, she had already chosen my fiancé. Who would be Vanessa ("Ah...so that's why she gives me the creeps...") I'd known her for quite some time and frankly, she scares me. And no one ever mentioned anything about an arranged marriage. It's the 21st century for God's sake! So I panicked and ran away. And since I'm assuming you're interested in why Gilbert is involved (Alfred nodded eagerly), it's because he was the only one I could go to. I moved around some assets and suspended my studies. Then Gilbert helped me create a fake 'trail' of sorts via credit card spending all the way to Ireland. I didn't think they would expect me to be right where I was supposed to be. It worked, at least for some time, and I sold a few things here and there to pay for the start-up costs of the Hub (and borrowed of course. I had several bank accounts independent of my family). And things went from there. But recently, I saw my mother twice, once with my former university professor, and it's evident that Vanessa blended in with the crowds and came to the restaurant (Alfred vigorously agreed). I don't know how exactly, but I'm guessing I started attracting too much attention. Then, my insane mother has hired professional henchmen to track me down."

A long pause. Arthur tried to gauge Alfred's reaction, but all he could tell from the American's deep, contemplative frown was-

"Wait...that's it?"

"What do you mean 'that's it', you wanker! I just told you more than I've ever told anyone in my entire life!" Arthur turned his back on Alfred, red in the face. _What the bloody hell am I getting so worked up for...he's an idiot, that's all!_

"Are you _sure_ you've told me everything?" Alfred grabbed him around the waist like he was catching his culprit. "...What about Gil, then?"

_"That's_ what you were worried about? You're really helpless." _So why do I feel glad all of a sudden..._

"No! _You're_ my help. So help me, mi' Lord," Alfred grinned mischievously.

"D-don't say embarrassing things like that!" Arthur sputtered. "Okay, fine! Gilbert! I...I tried to tell him once. We went out for drinks and I told him there was someone I was in love with. Of course, he had no idea it was him...and he told me that...he doesn't believe in love. He's always said that, but I've always hoped that he was only just saying it...so by then, I knew I had to move on. I tried very hard for about a year...and then...I met you..." His voice trailed off into the stillness of Alfred's media-inflated dormitory. Meanwhile, a large, victorious grin had emerged on Alfred's face.

"Hey, Arthur...is that a confession I'm hearing?" he smirked.

"No! That's not what I meant! You're the wanker who coerced me into sleeping with you after taking illegal photographs! It's an invasion of privacy! No-!" But it was too late. Before he knew it, Alfred had already pulled him over by the collar and forced their lips together. When they broke apart, they were both gasping for air.

"You...play dirty...you bloody American," Arthur breathed, arms around the other man's neck.

Alfred grinned, feigning innocence."I want to hear you say you like me."

"I do not!"

"Liar. Your face is all red."

"No!" Arthur tried to turn his head away, but Alfred pulled him back so they were face to face. His bright blue eyes bore into Arthur's like an overflowing ocean of emotions. Every emotion that man had ever known. Arthur had drowned.

"Ugh!" Arthur buried his face in Alfred's shoulder and mumbled something incoherent.

"What's that?" came Alfred's teasing voice.

"I like you, okay? There I said it!"

* * *

"Alfred, wake up."

Arthur gave his lover a hard shove. It had been quite hard for the two of them to share a single-person bed in the first place. But coincidentally, the American's heavy arm was conveniently on top of Arthur's stomach, making breathing a difficulty. Arthur shoved the arm off and got out of bed as he dimly tried to recall what happened last night. They had sex. For a _very _long time. He wasn't sure exactly how long, but his painfully aching back and hips was enough for him to estimate.

He checked his watch that he had thrown on the desk the previous night. It was 8:46 am.

The sheets behind him shuffled as Alfred rolled around in semi-consciousness. A loud yawn. "Arthur...you're not going to walk out on me again are you?" Alfred asked groggily at the sight of Arthur getting dressed. He sounded slightly distressed, despite being dragged out of dreamland only seconds ago.

"I wasn't going to, but if you don't get up-"

"I'm up! I'm up!" Alfred hopped out of bed in a frenzy. Arthur snorted and threw him his clothes. "Put some pants on, you idiot."

Alfred did as was told, but taunted, "You like me better without pants, though, right?" That earned him a smack on the head.

"Ow..."

"Come on, get dressed. I'm famished." _Especially after all that last exercise night..._

"Oooh! Let's go to McDonald's!"

"What? No! That's disgusting. Why would you eat McDonald's in the morning*?"

"Awn, but I want hamburgers."

"For breakfast?"

"Yeah! Why not?"

"It's unhealthy!"

"Arthur...!"

And they bantered on. Down the dormitory hall, down the stairs, down the morning London roads.

After filling their stomachs, Arthur dragged Alfred to a backstreet alley so he could make a few very much delayed calls. The first on his agenda was Yao, his gallant yet mysterious protector the previous night whom Arthur felt eternally indebted to.

"Hello? Yao?"

"Hello, Arthur!" He sounded chipper. Evidently unharmed.

"Er...are you okay?"

"I'm fine! Those men were no match for us. I could tie them up blindfolded!" he laughed, entertained. Arthur heard Horace comment on how they had no agility. "What about you? Are you safe?"

"Erm...at this moment, yes. Technically, my life was never in danger. You see-"

"No need to explain," Yao cut him off unexpectedly. "Someone like me knows that prying into others' secrets only results in more problems."

"Oh...Well, I just...called to say thank you."

"Don't mention it. It was quite fun for us as well," he laughed once again.

"Oh, and Yao, I have one more favour to ask."

"Yes?"

"I'm not going to be at the Hub for a while. I'm entrusting you with temporary co-management responsibilities along with Francis and Ludwig. Please make sure Francis doesn't do something strange."

"Oh? Are you sure it's smart to hand over your restaurant to the Chinese mafia?" he joked, amused.

"No, but it's better than handing it over to chaos."

"Ahaha. Of course. Profit is everything. Then I'll see you soon."

"Goodbye."

And the next on the list was Gilbert. Alfred leaned in close so that his ear was pressed right against the phone. Arthur knew it was because he still didn't feel fully secure about Gilbert.

The dial tone rang five times. Then, finally, someone picked up. But the voice on the other end was not Gilbert. It was Ludwig.

"Hello?" his thick, deep voice emanated from inside the microphone.

"Ludwig?" Arthur's eyebrows furrowed. "Is Gil there?"

"...I'm sorry, Arthur. Gilbert...disappeared."

Arthur's grew wide as he and Alfred shared shocked glances. "What do you mean? Is he okay?" _What if he got injured because of me?_

"No. He's probably unhurt, but he's nowhere to be found since last night. I'm sorry, but I don't think he's going to work tonight."

"No, no, I don't care about that. It's...good that he's unhurt. But please contact me if he shows up. I really do hope he's alright."

"Of course."

He hung up.

"...Disappeared..." Arthur mused, phone still in hand as he stared past the luminescent glow of the screen with troubled eyes.

"I guess you're not the only one disappearing, then," Alfred smiled consolingly. Arthur sighed and put his phone back in his pocket. Well, this was...unexpected. He shook his head and took out the phone again and dialled Francis's number.

"Hello? Francis?"

"_Bonjour_, Arthur. How is your little dilemma?" Arthur could imagine the French man's glib smile right now.

"It's...suspended for now. But what happened after I left yesterday?"

"We held a drinking contest. It's a shame you missed it. You would have been the first one to pass out."

"Sod off! I'm being serious here. What happened to Vanessa?"

"Oh, her. Somewhere along in the chaos, she seemed to have escaped. But it was well past 1:30 by then, so I'm assuming that she did not find you?"

"No. I'm fine right now. I won't be in for a few days, so take care of the Hub for me. And also, do you know where Gilbert went?"

A slight hesitation, then Francis replied, "I'm sorry I can't help you. He came back once last night at about 4:00 in the morning. He took some things and said he was leaving. And he just left."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that. I have no clue. Antonio made over 60 calls to his mobile phone yesterday, but...no answer. Then, Ludwig called us close to 8 o'clock and told us Elizabeta brought Gilbert's mobile to him in the morning. I should've known this was coming...I sensed that something was wrong..."

"That's..."

"I know. I don't understand it either. We're going to Imperial this afternoon to ask the school. Maybe they know where he is. Or maybe he's moved into his lab or something."

"Alright. Well, call me if you find him."

_"Bien sûr*__."_ He hung up.

Arthur sighed and put the phone away again, anxiety plain on his face. He pursed his lips. _Where can that tosser be? And why did he disappear all of a sudden? Can it have something to do with Elizabeta?_

"Hey, Artie. Don't frown. It makes your eyebrows look bigger."

"You bloody wanker!" Arthur immediately went from worrisome to enraged, his concerns momentarily forgotten. He raised a threatening fist at Alfred, who laughed and tweaked his nose instead.

"You're so fun to annoy."

"You!" Arthur pointed an accusatory finger at Alfred, gnashing his teeth. Alfred only laughed some more and began crossing the street towards the dormitory. Arthur stormed after him, calling names at the top of his lungs and almost ripping his own hair out.

"...Hey, are you even listening to me?" Arthur shouted as they trailed down the dormitory hall. "I said-!"

Alfred caught his descending fist, trapping his wrist in his larger hand. His palms were hot. "Come on, my spoiled Lord. Don't be violent." Alfred smiled at his irritated glare, then, much to Arthur's surprise, leaned down and kissed his eyebrows.

"H-hey! W-what..." But the rest of his words were lost in his throat. He flushed bright red.

They were alone in the hall. Alfred took his hand and led him down the corridor with a smug grin on his face.

"W-we're in public! Be a little more careful!" Arthur stammered in a hushed voice. But his words were amplified by the silence.

"Really? You didn't seem to mind so much last night."

Arthur felt his heart give a violent lurch. "D-don't say things like that!" he sputtered. It was a miracle he didn't faint from an overheated brain. Being with Alfred was like constantly standing on the edge of a dangerous cliff. He didn't know when or how, but every few minutes or so, he found himself pushed unexpectedly into freefall.

The two continued bickering all the way to Alfred's dorm room, their voices echoing in sync with their rhythmic footsteps. One, two. One, two. _Almost like a heartbeat,_ Arthur thought. _I wonder what sort of creature this was giving life to. Is it beautiful? Strange? Perhaps exuberant? Maybe all at once? _He couldn't know. He could only find out.

They stopped in front of the door and Alfred reached into his pocket to fish for the key. Then—bam!— the door burst open from the inside.

"There he is! Get him!"

Before Arthur could react, the tall, black-suited man had seized his arms, pinning them behind his back. He screamed, struggling to get free, smashing his heel into his captor's knees. But the man was too experienced to be caught by petty little tricks. Arthur felt himself being forced to his knees.

"Arthur!" Alfred cried.

"Lemme go, you wanker!" Arthur screamed, still struggling against the man with all his force. Arthur's head had been forced downwards towards the floor so he could see nothing but the grey, concrete floor. Alfred immediately lunged at the man aggressively, trying to pry the man's hands off of his lover.

"Such profane language!" came a stern, female voice. "For God's sake, break them apart!"

Alfred felt four strong hands yank him back and hold him against the wall. Everything blurred before his eyes. Frenzied and hysterical wrestling followed. Finally, he threw them off. The two men stood back, aloof, as Alfred glared at them with enraged, dagger-like eyes.

"Alfred!" he heard Arthur cry. He strived to peek between the two men's heads to glimpse Arthur still fighting in vain against his captor's bind.

"Alfred is your name, isn't it?" It was the same female voice. The same woman Arthur was hiding from a few days ago emerged from between the two men. The clicking of her heels resounded down the quiet hallway and stopped in front of Alfred, hands on her hips disapprovingly. She was almost half a head shorter than him, but her cold gaze made an icy shiver travel down his spine. Her eyes were a frosty, diaphanous green, her cheekbones high and aristocratic. She wore the countenance of superiority, as if wealth and privilege were her natural right. Alfred finally understood the gravity of Arthur's "she will do bad things."

She scrutinised Alfred from head to toe with her cold eyes. Alfred glared back, trying to remain unfazed.

"Lemme go!" Arthur screamed again, and tried to bite his captor's arm.

She flinched and waved her hand dismissively. "Take him to the car."

"Arthur!" Alfred lurched forward, but the men behind took a threatening step closer at this. He caught a glimpse of Arthur struggling wildly and calling his name as he was dragged forcefully away, soon disappearing down the stairs.

"Leave us." She waved her hand again and the two other men left, brisk footsteps turning into the ghosts of echoes in a few short seconds.

Alfred confronted the Duchess with subdued hostility, a steady glare as he resisted the temptation to make fists. She crossed her arms over her chest and finally said, "How much do you want?"

Alfred was caught off guard. "What?"

"How much do you want for keeping quiet?" she repeated, impatience leaking out from underneath her cold stoniness.

"What do you mean?"

She examined him again, then continued through thin, pursed lips, "I did a background check on you. White-collar family, high-medium income, American. You go to UCL and study film, am I correct?" She didn't waiting for an answer. "I don't know what your incentives are for befriending my son, but your little games are over. He's going to get married next week. But I'll make you a good deal. If you swear a vow of silence and never speak about any of this, then..." She retrieved a leather chequebook from her handbag and ripped out a blank cheque, handing it to Alfred. "Write any amount you want."

Alfred stared at the check, then back at her, then at the cheque again. _Is she serious? She's buying me?_ Alfred was aghast. He made a disgusted face, and without a hint of hesitation, tore the bill in half, in fourths, in eighths, then let it all drift to the floor. The sound of the shredding reverberated clearly against the narrowly-built walls, resolute and distinct.

She raised a finely-plucked eyebrow, mildly amused. "Fine by me. I reckon no one would believe you anyway," she said with another bored wave of her hand. Then, she turned and walked away, the rapid click-clacking of her heels sending tremors down the stairs.

* * *

People. Meandering. Meaningless. There were so many people. Alfred kept colliding with them. Why were there so many?

Alfred tore through the London, his sprinting footsteps purely impulsive. He had no idea where he was going. _This can't be happening this can't be happening this can't be happening..._All he knew was than he needed to get Arthur back. No matter what insanely stupid thing he needed to do, he needed to get Arthur back. He couldn't let the one true love of his life slip right out of the palm of his hand. Not when he was so close. When, for those few precious hours, his dream had come true. He had had a taste of pure, blessed happiness. It was like the most addictive drug. He couldn't ever let it go.

But he didn't even know where to start. _I have no idea where they've taken him, and he's getting married in a goddammed week! If I don't hurry up and find him...! FUCK! Why is that I never know what to do? Oh, please, God, give me something! Okay, Alfred. Think this through. Think..._

He slowed to a stop, out of breath. Looking up, he found himself standing conveniently right outside a Starbucks. He stared into the distance, attempting, in his mind, to find a coherent string of logic and grab onto it. But there was nothing. Only bits and pieces. So many little pieces, and the overwhelming consciousness that Arthur was not with him anymore. He finally shook his head in defeat and, deciding that he needed coffee to clear his mind, stepped into the Starbucks for an extra dark, extra bitter cup of coffee.

"Good morning, sir. What would you like?" the woman at the counter asked. She was still quite young, perhaps a few years older than himself, with her brunette hair done in a simple ponytail. She wasn't pretty, but she seemed cheerful.

"Uh...Do you have anything with...lots of caffeine?"

The woman gave him a funny look, then answered, "All of our roasts have caffeine, sir."

"Then give me the most horrifyingly bitter coffee you have."

She tried hard to suppress her laughter, then nodded and went to make him a dark roast. Alfred took stood there, losing himself in his thoughts at the counter. Agitation. A million things running through his mind. His heartbeat going so fast he was sure it went over the freeway speed limit.

"Here you go, sir." The woman had returned with an extra dark brew and slid it across the counter to Alfred. Alfred nodded in thanks dazedly and took an absentminded sip. He handed her the money, but didn't budge from the counter.

"You can stay there as long as no other customers come in," she laughed. He nodded again, taking large gulps with a blank expression on his face. After leaving the counter for a while, she came back and decided to make conversation.

"It's exciting, isn't it? The Earl's wedding," she said with a friendly smile.

"Huh?" Alfred's head snapped up in alarm. "How did you know about his wedding?"

She gave him a strange look again, and made a gesture to the television screen situated on the wall above her head. Alfred's eyes followed. Lo and behold, it was printed across the afternoon headlines: The Earl of _, Duke of _'s son, to be married in a week.

"The Earl of _'s wedding. It's been all over the news since this morning. He was missing until this morning, too. I thought it was strange, but they apparently found him in a hospital recovering from brain damage. But it's all alright now. Rumour has it that he's extremely good-looking, too. I think we should get some more press coverage later in the evening, and hopefully an interview with the Earl himself," she explained with a good-natured smile. But Alfred wasn't listening anymore.

On the screen, the reporter was standing outside a tall, grand, beige-bricked building.

"What's that building?" Alfred asked with a tone of urgency, pointing to the screen.

"Oh. That? It's the Ritz of course. On Piccadilly. The reporter just said the family is staying there until the ceremony." Alfred's heart skipped a beat. _Of course! They can't have left London if it was going to be publicised!_

"Yes! Coffee! Thank you, coffee! Thank you!" Alfred suddenly burst out, giving the woman a small scare. Thrilled, he pulled out his wallet and extracted the entire wad of cash stuffed inside the leather pouch. He threw it down on the counter.

"Sir! What are you-"

But before she could react, Alfred gave the woman a speedy over-the-counter hug. "Thank you! I have to go! Goodbye!" Then, he turned on his heel and sprinted out the door faster than lightning.

Halfway down the street, he abruptly realised that he was going in the opposite direction. And that he didn't have the smallest inkling of a plan. _I'm assuming Arthur's probably in one of the best suites at the hotel. I already tried calling him, but his mobile's off. I can't just barge in The Ritz-Carlton and demand to see Arthur Kirkland. I'll surely get thrown out..._Alfred looked to the road, which, in the early stages of afternoon rush hour, was beginning to clog up with cars. Alfred heaved an exasperated sigh and began pacing back and forth between a lamppost and a phone booth. _What to do, what to do. _

And then it struck him. He quickly hurried to a quieter back alley and dialled a number on his phone. Of course! Why hadn't he thought of it before?

"Hello?" came the jovial and boyish male voice from the other end.

"Yao! Thank God!"

"Alfred! Hello! What a surprise."

"Yao, dude. I need a massive favour. Can you come get me right now? I'm near the UCL campus. I'll go there to meet you."

"What is this all of a sudden?" Yao sounded quizzical. "Work starts in one hour and thirty minutes."

"Don't you have today off, though?"

"Originally, yes, but since Arthur entrusted me with the management of the restaurant-"

"Well, if we manage to pull this off, then Arthur can come back and manage his own goddammed restaurant. How's that?"

"...What happened, Alfred?"

"Arthur...they got him," Alfred sighed dejectedly. He felt embarrassed admitting this to Yao of all people. After everything they went through yesterday, he still managed to lose Arthur somehow. "But I know where he is! He's at The Ritz hotel, probably locked up in a room or something. I really need your help to get him out! I promise I'll repay you later!"

"Oh, I see," Yao contemplated. Alfred almost could hear the little cogs and gears gaining momentum in his head. "We will definitely...be there in a few minutes. Stay where you are, I can track your satellite coordinates."

"What?"

"Extra safety equipment. Don't be angry. I don't use it unless I'm being chased down. And for things like this," he said with an awkward sort of laugh. And with a click, he hung up.

After twenty minutes or so of continuously checking his watch and pacing, checking his watch and pacing, checking his watch and pacing, the silver BMW finally pulled up beside the road. Yao waved from the passenger's seat with his flawlessly carefree smile. Alfred waved back. _No one would ever guess that this man is...I wonder if it's actually a disguise. _Alfred climbed in and strapped on his seatbelt in anticipation of Horace's insane driving. However, to his surprise, they began to cruise down the road at a leisurely pace.

"Good afternoon, Alfred. I see you are pale," Yao said, frowning at him through the rear view mirror.

"Uh...yeah. About that."

"The loss of colour in the face is a sign of extreme fatigue and/or anxiety," Horace rattled in a very dictionary-esque voice, then added, "You're very bad at hiding your emotions, Mr. Jones. You would not survive one minute if you were captured and interrogated for information."

"Uh..."

"Haha, Horace is very straightforward. Please forgive him," Yao laughed, then continued, "So, Alfred. I looked into, ah, Arthur's predicament for you. Of course, it was on the news, but I don't need that kind of thing. It's not very reliable. I prefer sources that I can stake my life on. And I can definitely stake my life on the fact that he's on the top floor, The Royal Suite."

Alfred stared dumbfounded at the back of his headrest for a few long seconds, then, "My God! Thank you! How did you-"

"No, no, no," Yao wagged a finger at him, "Never ask what is not necessary, or I can't guarantee you'll wake up tomorrow morning at all," he smiled innocently with a twist of menace in his eyes. And, upon the frightened expression on Alfred's face, he burst into laughter. "Ahahaha! I'm just joking! You should see the look on your face! Ahahaha...okay, sorry. But just be glad that you came to the right person," he finished.

"Right...sure..." Alfred didn't understand his sense of humour at all.

"So do you have a plan?" Yao asked, completely back to his normal, upbeat self.

"Uh...see I haven't thought that far yet," Alfred chuckled awkwardly.

"Hmm. I thought as much," Horace stated with a faceless expression.

Yao smiled apologetically, then continued, "You see, I suspect that they won't simply leave Arthur in the room unguarded, so I've devised a plan..."

* * *

1 Arthur says that his title is earl and not _yet_ duke because with titles earl and above, the eldest son of the peer uses a lesser title of his father's (yes, nobles can have multiple titles because they're greedy xD). This is a courtesy title so it's actually not his own.

2 This is for the people who don't know the rules of tennis. A normal (men's) tennis match consists of 5 sets. A match is won with a best of 5 sets. However, each set is split up into games. You win a set by clearing your opponent by 2 games in a minimum of 6 games per set (for example 7-5, 5-3, and 6-4 are all acceptable end scores of a set). If the score reaches 6-6, then a tiebreaker game is played. However, elimination by the game means that whoever loses each game is automatically eliminated.

3 Yes, I am aware that McDonald's does offer special combinations for breakfast. But regardless, it's still way too much.

4 Bien sûr- of course

* * *

_**Phew! Lots of work, lots of work! I put so much sweat into writing that...and also burned lots of mini-calories via fingers and keyboard. I hope everyone enjoyed Arthur's recapitulation of his life story. xD Somehow, this mental image of England and Prussia playing tennis together always makes me REALLY REALLY fangirly~ Anewayz, [Disclaimer from Chapter One]. I'm going to do quick shoutouts today since I'm in my hotel room in California right now and it's really really damn cold because of the air conditioning so I really wanna hurry to get into bed with my iPod Touch (and read Shakespeare ^^''). **_

_**1.) THANK YOU The Strawberry for all your awesomeness, I really miss you even though I'm supposed to be on vacation. :( I wish you could've come with me. You super-support America in the Olympics so I bet Alfred loves you a lot. xD**_

_**2.) Good job, France, for trolling America (Agnel you troll) in men's swimming for the past few days! Haha, sorry, America. But he won fair and square**_

_**3.) Good job, China, for owning men synchronised diving (and trolling England TT-TT) and also owning the men's team gymnastics! All your competitors look so young and little compared to everyone else! Just like you. :))))**_

_**4.) Good job, Michael Phelps for being a cool record-breaker in general. 'Nuff sed. xDDDDD**_

_**5.) Good job, all the athletes in the Olympics right now, competing for your respective countries. You work so hard I really admire you guys!**_

_**6.) And finally, thank you all my readers/reviewers/followers. I hope you'll keep following this story because it's my personal favourite that I've written so far and I so hope that you'll all like it as well!**_

_**So, please, PLEASE review so I can make changes, I know that my writing is not the most pristine. xD So, until the next update, then, my friends...**_

_**Re-edit: Alright, I'll be putting this on the next chapter too, but I'm considering writing a short spin-off (prolly just a oneshot xD) afterstory of this one about China (whom we all know is an awesome mafia cook). HOWEVER, I have never ever ever found a pairing to constantly ship for China. I'm kind of wavering between RoChu and NiChu but I'm still open to any new suggestions that don't involve America, England, Prussia, or...Hungary...I don't think that's...yeah O.o (basically, characters in my two main pairings). So if you have any suggestions, leave them in the review (along with a review, please xD). I'll consider them further. And, well, if China doesn't work out, then I'll write an afterstory about someone else, or even one a short sidestory of one of the main pairings. So if you have any requests that don't counter any of the pairings I already incorporated, please also leave them in the reviews. Even if it's a continuation or elaboration of something you wanna hear more about in the current storyline, idk what that might be. I'll consider it and think of...something. xDD When I'm done writing the afterstory, i will put it in as chapter 9.5 (there are nine chapters total). So...reviews plzzz!**_


	8. Chapter 8: Their Past

_**THE EIGHTH CHAPTER, AKA THE SECOND TO LAST CHAPTER, IS OOOUUUUUTTTT!~~~ This one is half USUK, half PruHun, beginning with USUK. I'll make comments at the end, so for now, ENJOIIII~~~**_

* * *

Sprawling marble floors, pearly white and burgundy. The chandeliers suspended from the ceiling laced in fine-edged crystals, its light brightly dotting the floor. The walls were white as well, made of the same smooth marble. And the stairs. The grand, sweeping stairs donned in red carpet. The furniture with its elegant curves and intricate designs. Even the potted plants, placed squarely in the middle of each tea table with especial care. But what baffled Alfred the most was the way that everyone, every old lady with her expensive fur coat or hotel porter with his fancy black suit, simply walked by without seeing any of it. They were numb to it. The splendour and extravagance. Their eyes simply glossed over it like the chandelier's light off of the spotless floors.

Alfred was now infinitely thankful that he had listened to Yao's advice and put on the suit, despite its stuffy discomfort. He was unwilling at first, thinking it completely unnecessary, but now it was obvious that he would have stood out if he hadn't. All the businessmen going to conferences and ladies going to tea. Alfred was speechless. Not of its rich gaudiness, no. He had seen all that in movies. It was because reality finally struck home, square in his chest. This was Arthur's world. Arthur belonged here. Alfred tried to picture him strolling across a hall similar to the Ritz's lobby, laughing and smiling with people whose faces he did not know. Men and women in luxurious clothing with expensive cars and enormous houses and busy lives. And what was oddly unsettling was that it fit. The image came together perfectly in his mind. Arthur Kirkland was far away. Farther than he had thought.

"Alfred. Act natural." He jolted to attention at the young, boyish voice. It was Yao, who was examining him with a concerned frown on his face. He didn't know what type of expression he was making, but he was sure that it was eccentric.

He gave Yao a nod of reassurance, but his face gave away to nervousness. Yao sighed and said in a low voice, "If you can't go through with it, then we'll-"

"No." Absolutely not. He had to do this himself, or Arthur will just...slip away into this gold and platinum world. He took a deep breath to regain some composure, then faced the room again.

They were standing beside the entrance to the lounge, watching the people come and go. The two standing next to him were much more comfortable in this environment than he was. Horace perched dutifully next to Yao with his hands behind his back while Yao assumed a relaxed pose of a courteous spectator. _Of course...they would fit in, too. They might get their money from under the table, but their social status is still top-tier._

"Okay. You know the plan, right?" Yao glanced at him for confirmation.

"Yes. Yes..." Alfred nodded. It was what he always did at the bar. Hitting on girls. He straightened his suit, then, after making sure there was no one at the receptionist counter, began approaching in nonchalance.

He chose the receptionist at the farthest end of the counter, stopping at the desk with his most charming, flirtatious smile. She was in her mid-twenties, with well-kept reddish-brown hair and a sweet face. He could already see her grow obsequious. _Awesome! The shy, good girl type._

"Hello, how may I help you?" she asked, perhaps a little too eagerly. He instantly regained most of his confidence.

"Hello. I was just passing by and I remembered that some good friends of mine are arriving in London in a few weeks. They're considering staying here because it's lovely, of course, and asked me to..." –he paused and gave her a meaningful smile— "...check it out for them. So could you please answer a few questions for me?"

"Ah...of course, sir. I'd be glad to," she answered timidly_. Yeah, that's right. You'd be glad to look at me some more._ He was thoroughly enjoying himself. After all, making up stories was his forte.

"So, concerning the facilities..." He continued, as if making small talk on purpose. Soon, he saw Horace approaching from his peripherals, quiet and discreet.

"...what about the price, then? For the suites...?" Horace neared, hands relaxed at his side, and swept past beside them, arm almost touching the edge of the counter, but never breaking his brisk, purposeful stride. The receptionist didn't even notice.

Horace turned around near the lifts, where he and Yao were waiting for the next ride, and gave Alfred a quick thumbs up. Alfred caught this small gesture from the corner of his eye and exclaimed right away, "Oh, Christ! It's almost 4:30! Sorry, but I have somewhere to be in thirty minutes. It was nice talking to you, though!" And he rushed off towards the door. Between the two layers of automatic glass doors, he made a swift u-turn and headed right back in. This time, he kept to the right wall, as far from the receptionist desk as possible, and snuck his way past her to the lifts, where he walked up behind Yao and Horace as if they were strangers.

"Nicely done," Yao whispered through the corner of his mouth. Alfred cast a downward gaze at Horace's hands, folded behind his back. There, clenched tightly in his palm, was a card with the hotel logo printed on it. The master key to all the rooms. Alfred couldn't help the impressed smile that crept onto his lips.

Then, ding! Everyone who was waiting flowed into the small, rectangular box, filling it with the scent of cigarettes.

* * *

"What were you thinking?! I nearly went mad! You could have been in trouble! You could've been hurt! You could've died and I wouldn't know it! I thought the Irish had killed you!"

Arthur resisted the strong urge to plug his ears as his mother's shrill, hysterical cries filled his head. He was sitting on the king-sized bed overstuffed with pillows, studying his own hands. It wasn't as if he didn't expect this. He knew that he had probably given both his parents a near heart attack, but despite all the guilt that came with that knowledge, he regretted nothing_. I wonder where Alfred is...probably going mad...I want to see him...I can't get married! The very thought disgusts me! Not to mention my sexuality..._

"Arthur! Listen to me!" she demanded. Then, she sighed, leaning down and gently coaxed his head up so he would meet her eyes. "What happened to you? What happened to my perfect son?"

_Well, at first it was Gilbert. And now it's Alfred. But I can't possibly tell you that, can I? You'd start crying in fury, wouldn't you? _He turned his head away and stated resolutely, "I'm not getting married."

"That again! Why won't you listen to reason?!" She gripped the sides of her head in frustration. "I know you're not happy about an arranged marriage, but you know why it's necessary!"

"No! I don't know why! So enlighten me!" Arthur retorted, green eyes flaring up in defiance.

"How many times do I have to explain to you that it's for your sake! We can't have you just marrying any girl off the street! It has to be someone respectable! For people like us, it's too easy to get tricked, Arthur. People befriend us for our wealth-"

"So the safest way is to have only rich friends and marry rich and surround yourself with only rich people?!"

"Yes! Yes, it is! And you say it like it's a bad thing!"

"Well, I'm tired of all this!" Arthur got up from the bed and walked over to the window, staring out onto the street beneath him. Men, women, children, families. Friends, lovers, dogs even. All walking and talking and laughing. Why couldn't it be that simple?

"So you're bored? Is that what it is?"

"No! No, you don't understand! I just want...by this nation's law I have natural rights. I am 24 years old, a fully legal adult. So by God, strike me down if I don't go through with this marriage!"

"Arthur, don't be difficult!" She heaved a sigh and shook her head. "You just need to clear your head. I don't know what horrible ideas your 'friends' fed you, but you're being impossible." And with that, she left the room.

Arthur fell back onto the bed and covered his head with a pillow. "Uggggghhhhhhhh! Bloody fuck!" he screamed into the red and gold-embroidered pillowcase, his cry muffled by the thick cotton. He began to get wild thoughts in desperation. _Would I survive if I jumped out the window? Or maybe if I could hit those two blokes guarding me outside with a book or a...chair? _

He closed his eyes. Closed his eyes and thought of the people who touched his life. He thought of Antonio, who had passion like fire, and Francis, who always had something (mildly hypocritical) to say about love. He thought of Yao, who could defeat men twice his size in a fight, and of Gilbert, who had effortlessly changed his life with subtle and easy words. And lastly, he thought of Alfred. The idiot who wore the same sunny smile even when it was raining. The one who believed unwaveringly in love and all its wonders when he, Arthur had given up. The one he was helplessly and undeniably in love with. And all these people. All these people could easily become figments of his past if he gave in now. But he couldn't let that happen.

Before he knew it, he had fallen into a doze. Half-asleep, half-awake, he heard voices. Voices somewhere far. Getting closer. Closer...no...they were too close. He opened his eyes a crack. There were voices, angry voices outside his door. He thought he heard two distinct thumps. And-

Bam! The door flew open. "Arthur!"

* * *

The doors of the lift slid open with a smooth ding. They had reached the top floor. Only Alfred, Yao, and Horace were left in the lift. They stepped out quietly on the soft, floral carpet. Alfred began to look around the white-walled corridor for any sign of the Royal Suite.

"There," Horace said, peeking his head around the corner. Alfred hurried to his side and looked down the hallway. At the far end of the corridor, two of the black-suited men flanked a polished, wooden, French double door.

"So I was right about the guards..." Alfred mumbled to himself.

"Yes, indeed, you were," Yao said, coming up beside him with an assertive glint in his eyes. "Wait here."

Alfred watched as Yao and Horace shared a glance and a few hushed words, then Yao abruptly screamed loudly out of the blue, "You have horrible taste! That new Porsche you bought is complete rubbish!" The two turned the corner and proceeded down towards the guarded room.

"What are you talking about?!" Horace suddenly shouted, as if provoked. Alfred jumped a little, caught off guard by an emotional Horace. His voice even sounded different when he was furious. "And you're any better?! What about that Land Rover you bought last year, huh?! The engine is absolutely horrid!"

"What?! The only thing absolutely horrid around here is your taste! In everything! You can't even buy your girlfriend the right jewellery!"

"Don't bring Sasha into this! You know she's picky, it's not my fault!"

"Picky, huh? Well, I say she's not since she chose _you_ as her boyfriend!"

They stopped right in front of the two guards, jabbing fingers at each other threateningly. _Hey, they're not bad actors,_ Alfred thought, stifling his laughter with his hand.

"Hey! You two!" Horace suddenly whipped around toward the two guards. "What do you think? Which one of us has better taste?"

The two men shared a confused look, then the taller one stepped up and said, "I apologise, sirs, but we are on duty."

"You know what, I want your opinion, too," Yao chimed in. "It's only an opinion, so let's talk about it. You can talk, right?"

"...I suppose," the shorter one answered reluctantly.

"So, I buy a Porsche, and _he _says it's absolutely horrible! All he can do is complain when he's in _my_ car!" Horace made an emphatic gesture at Yao, glaring menacingly.

"Yes! I do complain! Because..."

They began to argue right in front of the guards, who were inadvertently drawn into the bickering as they tried to stop the two Asians.

"...and you have got to be kidding with that last girl you dated," Yao snarled, "She was whoring around with all your friends."

"Erm, sir, can you please-"

"Really now? Does that include you?!" Horace sneered, rolling his eyes mockingly.

"What?! How dare you accuse me of such lowly behaviour?!" Yao rolled up his sleeves, as if preparing for a fight.

"Sir, please stop this!" the taller one warned.

"Oh?! You want to go a few rounds?! Fine by me!" Horace rolled up his sleeves as well, and just as the two were about to pounce at each other-

Thump, thump. Almost in unison. Both guards fell to the floor without another peep, unconscious. Alfred could only glimpse what they had done but it appeared as if their hands swept the guards' necks. Alfred gasped as he ran up to the door, eyes not leaving the two peacefully unconscious men on the floor. And to Alfred's surprise, a low rumble was emanating from their chests. They were asleep.

"What did you do?" he whispered in awe.

"Pressure point," Yao shrugged, "Induces a coma-like deep sleep. They'll be out for a few hours. It's just rather hard to get at them unless they're caught off guard, so we had to go through all of that nonsense. But meanwhile..." He handed Alfred the master key and smiled. "All yours, Alfred. We'll...take care of these two."

Alfred nodded and swiped the card on the door handle. Click. By that time, he couldn't contain his excitement anymore. He barged in through the door with only a single thought in his head. "Arthur!"

Arthur's jolted up to sit at the familiar voice booming through from the sitting room. _Alfred. No, it couldn't be. It's not possible! Now I'm was just hearing things. _But it was so real. So close, too. Getting closer.

"Arthur?! Are you there?" _Don't be stupid. You're just dreaming. You're asleep. How could he have found me?_

But it was Alfred who tore into the bedroom. It was Alfred's face that smiled at him now, blue eyes sparkling. And it was Alfred who tackled him on the bed.

"You git!" Arthur coughed. He nearly had his wind knocked straight out of his chest. But before he knew it, he was picked up, spun around, and then violently kissed.

They broke apart and Arthur sputtered some more, gasping for his breath. No. He wasn't dreaming. He always seemed to conveniently gloss over Alfred's brute strength and insensitivity to others' pain in his dreams.

"God! Give me some time to breathe!"

"Awn...I thought you'd be happy to see me," Alfred sulked. _No. Definitely not a dream. _Arthur was more than sure now. Which meant that it was really happening.

"Who said I wasn't happy...git..." Arthur mumbled, burying his face in his lover's shoulder. Then he peered up, frowning. "How did you find me?"

Alfred chuckle, scratching the back of his head. "Haha...well, it's not that hard. You know your engagement's on the news, right?"

"What?!" He immediately went into a rage. "How dare they!"

"But it doesn't matter now, does it? Let's go!" Alfred took his hand and pulled him towards the door.

"And how did you get a room key? And get past those guards?"

"Well, that takes some more explaining. Yao and Horace were the masterminds, not me." Arthur's mouth formed a little 'o.' "They're outside right now, so come on!"

"Okay! Okay!"

But as they neared the door, they heard muffled voices coming from the other side. And one particular sharp, childish voice. The alarm emerged on Arthur's face. _Oh, no. No, no, no. Why did he have to show up now?! _Alfred frowned and mouthed, "Who is it?"

"Peter," he whispered back.

"Peter your half-brother?!"

"Yes! What other Peter?!"

"...see! See! I hear him! Let me in!" the sharp voice cried from the other side of the door. Arthur clapped a hand over his own mouth.

"No, no, you can't see him, little boy," they heard Yao try to explain. "He's...indisposed. Haha. Now run along."

"No! I want to see Arthur!"

"Sshhhhhh! Sssshhhh..." Yao quickly shushed. "Okay, okay. Come back later and you can see him."

"...Are you lying?"

Alfred rolled his eyes at Arthur. "Of course your brother would be just as sly as you."

"Hey!"

"Ha! I hear him again! Let me in!" Peter demanded.

"No, no, no." They heard the exasperation in Yao's tone. It was ironic, thought Arthur, for the great Chinese mafia to be so troubled by a ten-year-old boy. He sighed, and opened the door to find Yao and Horace to have replaced the two guards flanking his door. The two original guards were nowhere to be found.

"Arthur!" Peter instantly ran over and clung to his side, smiling up at him with triumphant, blue eyes. "Arthur, they wouldn't let me see you!" He twisted his head around and stuck his tongue out at Yao. Then, he finally noticed Alfred, who was staring at him with a strange expression on his face.

"Who's he?" Peter pointed a fearless finger at the tall America.

Arthur laughed and ruffled the boy's hair. He had grown taller. "He's my friend. All three of these gentlemen are my friends."

"Whaaat?! Even the mean ponytail man?"

"Wha-? Hey!" Yao exclaimed, as Alfred, Arthur, and Horace snickered through the cracks between their fingers.

"Yes, even him." Then, Arthur put on a serious face. "But I have to go now, Peter."

Peter's eyes lit up with excitement at once. "Go where?! Can I come?!"

Arthur heaved a sigh. He knew for sure that Peter would ask that very question. "Sorry, Peter. Not this time." The light in his eyes went off.

"But whyyyy? First they tell me you're getting married, and now you're going somewhere and you won't even tell me where? I haven't seen you in over a year! You don't tell me anything!" he whined. _Children will be children,_ Arthur mused, _no matter how bright._

Arthur paused, then bent down so he and Peter were almost at eye-level. "Listen, Peter. This is very important. I'm going to tell you a secret, and you can't tell anyone except for Father, okay?" The little boy nodded eagerly. "Alright." Arthur took his half-brother's little hand and led him towards the lifts. "The truth is, I don't want to get married," he explained as the numbers atop the lift climbed and climbed. The light dinged and the doors opened. The party of five shuffled inside. "So," Arthur continued as they descended smoothly, "I'm leaving."

"Again?! But you just got here!" Peter pouted.

"I know. I'm sorry, Peter. But I can't stay here. They'll make me marry someone I don't want to. So, I need you to keep quiet about this, but I also need you to do me a huge favour."

Peter nodded again enthusiastically, more than happy to keep his brother's secret. "I need you to tell Father for me that I won't yield to forceful measures. But if he wanted to talk in honest, then tell him to call this number." By this time, they had already made their way out of the lift and down to the front counter. Arthur borrowed a pen and a small piece of paper from a receptionist and wrote down a number. He handed it to Peter. "Tell him to call this number and say he's the Duke of _, then ask for the manager. And also tell him not to worry. My friends won't give him away."

Peter nodded confidently, then gave his brother a last hug. "Bye, Arthur! Don't forget you have to take me somewhere next time!" And he scurried off. Arthur smiled after him, then turned back to his rescuers.

"Did you write down the restaurant number by any chance?" Yao asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes. I did. Now let's go before somebody finds us. I'm in dire need of one of Francis's mousse cakes," he declared, straightening his blazer. Alfred whooped at the top of his lungs as they strode out the glass, revolving doors, hands deep in their pockets and minds far gone into their future.

* * *

It won't stop. The tears flowed like a broken faucet. A river. A waterfall. Down and down and down until her eyes were red and swollen and her cheeks numb to the feeling of the liquid salt rolling down its surface. She tried to stop them at first, but she soon found that all efforts were in vain. So she let them come. Slowly and noiselessly, as she stared into nothing. She had never known this weakness. This emptiness. This longing. She had always been the headstrong one, the stubborn and bold. But now, all of that was lost, washed away by her mute tears. _Maybe I could cry an ocean, then drown it._

Click. The door opened and closed, breaking the prolonged silence.

"Liz! I'm home!" Bella's light, cheery voice rang through the sitting room. She had left for work who knew how long ago. Elizabeta had been sobbing too hard to budge.

Elizabeta didn't answer. Only continued to stare into nothing. It was as if her parched lips had sealed themselves shut forever, immovable and frozen.

"Liz!" Bella panicked at the sight of her pale-faced, puffy-eyed friend sitting on the sofa. "Have you not moved at all since the time I left?" Bella sank down beside her fretfully.

Elizabeta shook her heavy, aching head. Maybe her brain had soaked up the tears, too.

"Elizabeta, please say something. What happened? What did he do to you? No, never mind. You don't have to tell me. You need water." Bella sped into the kitchen and poured her a cup of water. She forced Elizabeta to drink it, watching her finish every last drop.

Then, a repulsive notion suddenly gripped Elizabeta's chest. The immensely overwhelming detestation of the thought bubbled up inside her stomach. Her tears evaporated. "How was he tonight?" The resentment in her own voice frightened even herself.

"Huh?" Bella frowned, clueless

"Gilbert. Still with those girls?" Her own jealousy scared her, but it was too powerful. Oh, how she despised those girls.

"Liz...he wasn't there."

Her heart lurched to an abrupt halt. It was as if somebody had just thrown her into a pool of ice-cold water. "W-what?"

"He wasn't there. He..." Bella sounded a little anxious. "Francis told me that he left early this morning. No one knows where. And no one's heard anything from him since. Not even Ludwig."

"W-what do you mean?" Elizabeta mumbled, caught up in her own spinning head. He wasn't there? Where was he? Was he alright?

"We can't do anything but wait for now. It's only been a day, so it's likely he'll come back some time soon. But it's the truth that we can't find him anywhere. Ludwig even called the school offices. Apparently he had called in and suspended all his projects that morning."

"What? But..."

"That's why we need to know what happened, Liz. If you don't feel comfortable talking about it now, I can wait. We don't want to call the police just yet, since everyone knows that Gil is...spontaneous. He might show up soon. We're trying to look for him ourselves for now. But please. If there's anything you know..." she trailed off at the look of sour agony that surfaced on Elizabeta's face.

"...Liz?"

"I slept with him." Her words were hollow. That very thought made her feel hollow. Bella's eyes grew big. A long pause. The stillness cut like a knife. When she said that...when she heard those words reverberate inside her own head, she felt just like one of _them_. One of those girls he would play with and throw away. And maybe that _was_ all she was.

"But I don't know where he is. He just left." She bit her lip. _I'm not going to start crying again. No way. _

"In the middle of the night?!" Elizabeta nodded. The tears in her head sloshed around lethargically.

Bella clasped a hand to her mouth in shock. "Oh, no, darling... I'm so sorry..." she whispered through her fingers. She gave Elizabeta a tight hug, then muttered, "I didn't think...that he would do something like that."

"I'm just another girl that he fucked," Elizabeta sniffed. "Of course he would do that. No strings attached. Isn't that his policy? Or maybe I'm not even worth that much, since he kept apologising after he woke up."

"No, Liz. That can't be true. He cares," Bella eagerly shook her head.

"Then tell me how?! How has he ever cared for me at all? How has he ever cared beyond a few good laughs?!" she cried, all her emotions flooding out at once. She had known him for fourteen years. She'd grown up with him. She'd spent Christmas Day building snow sculptures with him, entire summers travelling Europe with him, so many hours in the library studying for exams with him. And yet. And yet she could not even understand so many of the things he did. Why he chose this careless, irresponsible lifestyle when he's a perfectly level-headed individual. Why he refused all the inheritance that was rightfully his. Why he apologised and then disappeared right after they spent the night together.

You know that's not true..." Bella said. "He suddenly dropped everything and just disappeared...that means he must care, right?"

Elizabeta didn't answer. She had no idea what it meant. Everything had happened so fast. And now that she had calmed down some...that look in his eyes right before he hurried away the previous night. It was...something she had never seen before. It was so deep and dark. Like a tunnel that extended all the way into his mind. And it became clearer and clearer in her mind as well. The way his eyes looked when he frantically told her he was sorry. What was it that he said after that? _'I'm wrong for you.'_ When those words escaped his lips...it was dark and everything was a blur in her head. But she couldn't mistake the fear. The fear in his crimson eyes, the fear on the tip of his tongue. He was afraid. Of what? Of her? Of her persistence?

"Elizabeta...I've been noticing something for a while..." Bella began hesitantly. She was always so straightforward Elizabeta frowned at her uncertainty. She breathed out a long sigh, then said, "I think he avoids you on purpose when he takes girls out. Every night. I think he doesn't want you to see. I don't know if he's doing it consciously or not." She twiddled with her fingers a little nervously

Elizabeta's lips parted halfway, and then she closed them again. She was silent for a while, pondering. This was much more complex than she had previously imagined. It wasn't just a simple 'I love you' or 'I don't love you.' She didn't know what it was, but it felt like she had scraped the surface of something very deep. Just like the tunnel in his eyes. She wondered what she would find if she went down that tunnel.

All of a sudden, a loud, demanding growl from her stomach . "I'm hungry," she stated, still a little dazed. She couldn't think on an empty stomach. It was times like these that she wished Yao or Francis was here.

Elizabeta returned to work the next night. The people at the tables, the people swarming around the bar, the people standing to the side. Not much had changed since that night, though it felt like there should be. Antonio had temporarily replaced Gilbert at the bar. He still had much difficulty making the drinks, and was as clueless as ever, but Alfred's unexplained and spontaneous increase in enthusiasm seemed to make up for it. On the other hand, this had driven Lovino into a sort of mad chopping cycle. He would work even faster and with more irritation than usual, but leave the kitchen in 20-minute intervals to glare over at _'quel bastardo,'_ usually muttering nasty things about infidelity under his breath. Meanwhile, Arthur also began showing his face more and more. He seemed to have rebounded from near-illness, his skin finding just the right tone of light peach. _It's as if I'm the only one who's troubled all of a sudden..._

It felt like things were going too fast. It had been almost two days since Gilbert's disappearance and there was no sign of him yet. But despite knowing this, the balance in the Hub had not been perturbed. Elizabeta was growing even more distressed. What if he didn't come back? What if he was lost? Lonely? Hurt? She dared not allow her mind to stray any further.

"Eliza." She felt Ludwig's hand on her shoulder. She jerked around in alarm, almost smashing her nose into Ludwig's collar-bone. "Sorry! I'm sorry, Lutz!" she scrambled to apologise.

The tall, grave-faced blonde shook his head. "It's nothing. But I have to talk you."

Elizabeta sighed. She knew this was coming. He had probably heard from Bella about what happened between her and Gilbert on the account of obtaining information for his brother's disappearance. It was more than embarrassing to face him now. Gilbert's younger brother and not to mention her childhood friend. She had been purposefully avoiding him the entire evening in anticipation of this.

"So..." he started, "I heard about, ah, everything." _Of course_.

"Sorry. It's a mess." Elizabeta smiled sheepishly.

"It's his fault. I'll make him pay dearly when I find him," Ludwig said. He had always had this unshakeable sense of duty towards what he saw as his own brother's wrongdoings.

Elizabeta shook her head at him. "No need to be so harsh, Lutz." Gilbert may have been cruel and unreasonable to her, but she couldn't help but feel there was a piece of the story missing. A big piece.

Ludwig cleared his throat. "Anyway, well, Mama wants to talk to you. I don't know if this is too much to ask, but can you come over tonight?"

Elizabeta opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She wanted to say yes, but couldn't bring herself to say it. She felt responsible somehow. Guilty. She had been with him the night before his disappearance, after all. Doing _that_. She just didn't know how to face Frau Beilschmidt.

"She doesn't blame you. Not at all," he quickly added at the conflicted expression on her face, "She blames Gilbert if anyone. But...I think there's something she wants to tell you."

"...Okay, then." There was nothing else to say. But this set her mind abuzz. Something to tell her? Could it explain his behaviour?

"Ludwig! Phone!" Bella called from halfway across the room as she passed the front desk.

"Ah! Right!" Ludwig gave Elizabeta a consoling pat on the shoulder, then hastened away for the call.

Elizabeta stood in the middle of all the hustling and exchanges of words, lost in her heart's musings. She missed Gilbert. So much that she forgot to be angry.

"Ahem. Excuse me," called a vaguely familiar voice from behind her. She twisted her head around to find Basch Zwingli sitting at a table alone, with his hands interlaced contemplatively on the table. He wore an expression of absolute solemnity, as usual. "Elizabeta, am I correct?" he inquired a little too cordially.

"Ha. Yes," Elizabeta smiled, approaching his table. "What do you need?"

"Where's Arthur?"

"Ah. He's in the office. Are you looking for him?"

"Yes, actually. But I'll just wait for him then. Meanwhile, I have a few questions to ask you." He was all business from the first word to the last.

"Me?" Elizabeta was a little surprised.

"Yes. Please take a seat if I'm not taking up too much of your time." Elizabeta's eyes did a quick sweep of the room. It was the mellow part of the evening, when everything seemed to slow down before it got wild. It shouldn't be too much trouble. She shrugged and sat down across from him at his table.

"So," he began, "Have you seen my sister here lately?"

Elizabeta's eyebrows jumped a few centimetres, then landed neatly on her brow bone again. _So he knew the whole time, huh? Or perhaps somebody told him?_ "No, I haven't. I think she's been coming less and less." _Especially now that Gil's not here, there's no reason for her to come..._

"Good. Good," he muttered to himself. "And your friend, Beilschmidt. Tell him to keep away from my sister." Elizabeta gave a humourless laugh and nodded. She didn't have the energy to explain to him the current predicament.

"And also..." He paused, suddenly struggling with his words. Elizabeta watched his rare frustration unfold in amusement. He was actually quite attractive with an animated face, she noticed. "...also...what is Roderich's favourite type of cake?" he finally managed. He even turned a little pink, much to his own chagrin.

Elizabeta giggled, but hid it skilfully with a fake cough. "Why do you ask?"

"Because! It's his birthday next week!" Basch sounded angry, but Elizabeta could tell that he was actually just embarrassed. She used to think he was cold and a little domineering, but he was turning out to be much livelier a short way beneath the surface.

"Ahahaha, I see. I guess it's my fault, too, for forgetting. Thank you for reminding me. And I'm not sure if it's his favourite, but he does enjoy a good _Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte*_," she smiled back.

"Ah...thank you," he mumbled, examining the utensils in his hands with apparent interest.

"So you and Roderich..." she urged with a meaningful grin.

"We're friends!" he said hurriedly.

"Uh-huh...really good friends..." She fixed him with a teasing, sceptical look. He gnashed his teeth in aggravation. But after a minute or so, he gave in.

"Fine! We're...going out. Just don't tell anyone!" He was fuming and tripping over his own words.

Elizabeta burst into laughter. She couldn't help it. The expression on his face was too funny. "Ahahaha...no worries. Your secret's safe with me," she said after recovering from her fit of laughter. Meanwhile, she was busy celebrating. She had won _both_ bets! That means Gilbert-

Gilbert. The name struck her like lightning that burned straight through to her heart. Gilbert wasn't here...and it was only three nights ago that they made the bet. Why is it that everything reminded her of him?

"Well, I need to get back to my job. Ludwig will be mad," she explained, maintaining her outward cheerfulness as she left Basch berating himself at the table.

She sighed and returned to the kitchen, absentminded and fatigued.

"Hey! Watch where you're putting stuff!" Elizabeta was jolted out of her musings to an annoyed Lovino with hands on his hips. She looked back down at the tray she was about to set down...right in the sink. "Oh..."

"Yeah! Watch what you're doing!" And he turned his back on her and stomped away. _Wow, he's even more arsed than usual..._

"Hey, Liz," Bella came up from behind. "Distracted?"

"Erm...yeah..." She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to clear her head.

Bella laughed a little sympathetically, then, "Hey...Liz...I need to talk to you about something..." She was wearing that I-have-something-to-say-but-I'm-sure-how expression.

"Uh, sure."

"Remember that bloke I told you about? The one I met at Trafalgar Square?" The smitten expression on her face just about gave her intentions away.

"Oh, that Dutch one?" Elizabeta asked, vaguely knowing where this was going. Only a week ago, Bella was meeting a friend at Trafalgar Square and was running late. In her rush, she had apparently tripped over her own foot and crashed into a young Dutch man who offered to give her a ride. Elizabeta knew that she had been secretly obsessing over him ever since. She was a closet romantic, after all.

"Yeah...Govert. I...I've actually been seeing him...a lot," she confessed.

Elizabeta raised her eyebrows, mildly bewildered. She'd known Bella for five years and never had she been serious about anyone. Her relationships were capricious, and lasted anywhere from a one night stand to one month. She wasn't a slut, but she never seemed to be particularly attracted to anybody. And certainly never like this.

"I swear I meant to tell you!" Bella gushed, "But I didn't know how to...because...with Gil and everything..."

"I see." Elizabeta felt a hard lump in her throat. She should be happy for her friend. But why wasn't she?

"But what I really wanted to talk to you about is that...We're actually, ah, moving in together at the end of the month." The lump in her throat expanded. And she finally understood why. She was jealous. Jealous of Bella and her good fortune. Why couldn't it be that simple for her and Gilbert?

"Ah, I know it's too fast. Maybe. But I like him very, very much. I was just worrying...will you okay by yourself_?" So this is what it's about...am I that weak that I have to depend on Bella to take care of me?!_ Elizabeta was angry. Angry at herself. When had she become so vulnerable?

"I'll be fine, Bella. Don't worry about me. I'm happy for you. You finally found someone." She plastered a huge grin onto her face. You finally found someone...saying that made her feel lonely. She missed Gilbert. His presence had always been a constant in her life, and now that he was gone, it was as if her anchor had lost most of its weight.

"Really?" Bella lit up again, then began to say too many things at once. "Thank you! You have to meet him! He's really tall, and, oh my God, he's the perfect combination of intimidating and serious but secretly attentive..." Elizabeta could tell that she had held back for quite a while now. A week was a long time for Bella. Elizabeta was slightly ashamed. She wasn't even aware of all the detailed little cares that Bella had taken for her in the past few weeks. She had been too trapped within herself to notice much of anything else.

And so the night dragged on, her mind and heart full of Gilbert Beilschmidt.

* * *

There it was again. Ludwig's door. White paint. Neat. Quiet. With the door number etched in black and a tiny peephole underneath it. For some reason, that neatness felt a little scary. As if it was too fragile. Too easily dirtied.

Elizabeta sucked in a deep breath and rang the doorbell. Approximately two days ago, she was standing in the same spot, with Ludwig's mackintosh in her arms, thinking that she'd be here only for a brief visit. What happened after that felt like weeks. Months, even.

With a soft click and a soundless pull, Ludwig's tidy blonde head appeared between the open door and the wall. "Hallo, Eliza," he said. Elizabeta thought that she caught his blue eyes waver slightly, but she couldn't be sure. He seemed even more serious than usual. Almost...sombre.

"Hallo," she greeted in return, forcing a half-smile.

"Hallo, Eliza," came the soothing, calm voice of Frau Beilshchmidt. Elizabeta slipped inside and greeted her as well, taking especial care of what sort of expression was displayed on Frau Beilschmidt's face. The accomplished woman was quite unreadable when she wished it, but she seemed just little stiff today.

Elizabeta and Ludwig shared an anxious look, both uncertain of how to act as they sat down across the tea table from Frau Beilschmidt. It appeared that Ludwig had no idea what was going on either. The middle-aged woman heaved a deep sigh. She'd never looked so old, Elizabeta thought. The wrinkles on her face seemed to have increased overnight. Elizabeta suspected she had not slept well due to the entire fiasco.

"Oh, Eliza," she sighed, rubbing her temples. "I'm sorry, my dear. That child is such a fool sometimes." Elizabeta said nothing, but her folded hands formed fists on her lap. She couldn't bring herself to meet Frau Beilschmidt's eye. _It was my fault, too...I kissed him first..._ But even now, she wasn't sure whether or not she fully regretted stealing that kiss.

_"Unfortunately, I will tell you right now that I don't know my own son as well as I should (in German)," _she continued, a twinge of shame on her face_, "I can't fully explain why Gilbert did many things he did, but I _can _tell you what I know. Both of you."_ She nodded at Ludwig as well. Then, a pause, during which Elizabeta and Ludwig both stared at her expectantly._"As you both know, nineteen years ago, on May 10th, my husband Alexander Beilschmidt passed away."_ She was a bit shaky, voice trembling. _"He was...I'm going to tell you exactly what happened. All that I know." _

Ludwig made a motion as if tempted to spring to his feet, but stopped himself in time. Frau Beilschmidt never talked about that unfortunate event in detail. Never. Elizabeta knew for a fact that Ludwig knew exactly nothing of his father's death except for the few basic facts that could be read off of the newspaper. He had no memory of his father. And very little pictures, if any. For some reason, she had not seen a single photograph of him in their house, except for the one...

_"That afternoon,"_ she began slowly, as if testing the safety of each word on her own tongue_, "I went out for groceries and took Ludwig with me. Alexander stayed at home with Gilbert, who was five at the time. And when I came back...the house was in flames."_ Elizabeta felt Ludwig tense beside her. _"I screamed so hard...for the two of them...and I found Gilbert...behind the house...crying for his Papa...and I asked him 'where's Papa?'...and he pointed to the flames..."_ She stopped, closing her eyes to recollect her composure, and perhaps all her scattered memories after nineteen long years. Elizabeta tried to imagine it before her eyes. The way that Gilbert saw it as a child. The burning house. And tears for his father. It was difficult because she had never seen him cry before. Not even when he was insulted, bullied, or injured.

_"I don't know what happened that day, except that my husband must have turned on the stove without noticing it hadn't lit. He must have left it on for a long time. Then he must have tried to light it. Or so the experts tell me. Afterwards, we had the funeral quickly. There wasn't even a body to be buried. Not even ashes...And that was that. We moved to another part of Berlin, and life went on. But Gilbert...something in him had changed...Since he was the only one there at the time, everyone tried to obtain some kind of story from him. He wouldn't talk about it, no matter how subtly we would ask 'what happened?' He would scream and scream and scream, then close his eyes so he wouldn't see anything. Sometimes he would go hours without opening his eyes. It was almost as if he was shutting himself away. He wouldn't talk or say a single word to anyone. Anyone except for Ludwig that is, which was strange since Ludwig could barely understand him. But two weeks after the incident was when..._ Elizabeta grew conscious of the blood pumping throughout her body. Ba-dump, ba-dump. She peered at Ludwig through the corner of her eye. He was pale as a sheet. He had lost two layers of colour in the past ten minutes. _"I apologise beforehand for hiding this...and for such a long time, too,"_ she sighed, wary of her younger son's reaction, _"We had just moved into the new house and settled in. Gilbert was in his worst state at the time. He still wouldn't talk to anybody. He wouldn't eat unless you gave him food and watched him eat it all. He would never ask for it even when he was starving. He would never ask for anything. But despite all of this...I never could've guessed...that he'd...try to kill himself. Twice."_

Elizabeta involuntarily sucked in a cold breath of air. The iciness swirled around in her lungs, refusing to disperse. It settled in her chest, a thin layer of mist had forming over her heart. K-kill? Suicide? The very thought thoroughly froze her bloodstream.

"What?!" Ludwig cried, finally leaping his feet. He was horrified, his vivid blue eyes full of stunned betrayal. His deep voice boomed through the clean, empty room, bouncing off the white walls.

_"Ludwig, please sit down,"_ Frau Beilschmidt said. Her eyes were sad and apologetic.

_"How could you not have told me?!"_ he raged, ignoring his mother's quiet plea.

"_Please sit down,"_ she repeated, more firmly this time. He gritted his teeth, fists shaking, but finally forced himself to settle back down on the sofa.

_"I know this is a shock for the both of you. But Gilbert pleaded with me many times not to tell. He doesn't want anyone else to know. Especially you, Ludwig." _

_"Why...would he do such a thing?"_ Elizabeta whispered through her fingers.

_"That part I do not fully understand,"_ Frau Beilschmidt explained_, "I only know that it definitely had something to do with Alexander's death. The first time we stopped him before he could hurt himself. He tried to impale himself with Alexander's old Swiss army knife, and I snatched it away in time. But the second time...he had a knife in his hand from the kitchen...and he was so small...and his blood...was on the knife...and running down from his shoulder...and he had a photograph of Alexander clutched in his little hands...It just..."_ She couldn't go on. She had reached her limit. And it was quite enough for Elizabeta as well. If Frau Beilschmidt went any further, Elizabeta thought that she herself would start crying. Now that she thought about it, when she and Gilbert were in bed together, she did remember something like a jagged line running down from his left shoulder down to his chest. She felt her throat grow thick and sharp little stings pinched the inside of her nose. She clamped a hand over her mouth to hold back the tears.

_"And after that...I had to throw away all the pictures,"_ Frau Beilschmidt had somehow found the strength to go on. Elizabeta was envious of her willpower_. "He became different. The difference was subtle at first, but after awhile it became apparent. He was more conscious of everyone around him. He became careful to not show negative emotions, like sadness or disappointment, when it concerns important matters. Unlike normal children, he never asked for anything. Not Christmas presents, not favours, not even help when he needed it. I don't know why that child would..." _She leaned back against the armchair and closed her eyes, shaking her head. Elizabeta glanced apprehensively over at Ludwig again. He had his face buried in his palms. Elizabeta knew how close the brothers were. Gilbert always did everything he could for Ludwig, even though it meant taking up free time or putting in extra work. Elizabeta even had suspected that, right after graduating from university, Gilbert had turned down several excellent job offers* and continued straight into graduate school just so he could stay with his brother a little longer, if only three years longer. But of course she couldn't tell that to Ludwig.

_"Frau Beilschmidt...you mentioned earlier that you threw out all the pictures didn't you?" _Frau Beilschmidt nodded. _"I don't know if you know this, but there's still a photograph of...your late husband in Gilbert's drawer. I found it accidentally when we were playing a game of some sort."_ Both mother and son looked up in surprise._ "But...Excuse me. I think I should go..." _Elizabeta's voice trembled as she stood up. _"T-thank you, Frau Beilschmidt. For...everything. I...Good night."_

She hastened out if the building into the crisp night air, gasping for breath. The cool wind alleviated some of her suffocation. She was asphyxiated with the image in her head. A little silver-haired boy, with a young, beautiful face. He was crying. Terrified. Big, glass tears rolling down from his crimson eyes. And there was the shadow of rising flames in those lucid pupils, filling them with horror. She clutched her sides with her arms. It hurt to know. That clever, funny boy in her mind had been running. Running the entire time.

* * *

1 _Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte- _the beloved cake we all know as the Black Forest cake. Yum!

2 As it was mentioned earlier on, Gilbert majors in nuclear engineering. After finishing the four years of undergrad, engineers can either go on to graduate school or get a job if there are good opportunities. The thing with engineering is that many people would rather get experience first before going back to school.

* * *

_**[Insert disclaimer form first chapter] Several things! First of all, YES there will be a little more of USUK in the next (and LAST) chapter. Secondly, Sealand made an appearance. YAY. Thirdly, yes this will be all the NetherlandsxBelgium that will be in the story. Sry (i remember someone reviewing said they really liked NedBel?) :( And also, I do realise I put in a HUGE twist there, hope you enjoyed that...er...enjoyed? O.o perhaps not. Comments? I'm a little baffled by the lack of footnotes in this one...so, feel free to leave reviews on what you THINK is going to happen in the grand finale xD I always enjoy guesses (right, Ev? xD). **_

_**Once again, thank you to The Strawberry for all your support and proofreading etc etc etc etc. there's too much for me to type it all here. And also, my friend Ev for her support and...nagging? xD**_

_**Also, shout out to CHINA in the olympics who I'm proud of. So many olympic medals...though you're behind America :( America is just a crazy buff dude (and he needs the exercise xD). It's okay, china. **_

_**Finally, thank you for readers/followers/reviewers for you know...reading, following, and reviewing. **_

_**ABOUT THE AFTERSTORY (IMPORTANT-ISH): Okay, so I put a note up concerning writing a short one-chapter afterstory after the...story...xD but i don't think most people saw it because it was a re-edit after most of my followers, I assume, have already read the story...or are too lazy to comment (I understand...). But yes, this is your second-to-last chance to make suggestions! Please make them relevant to The Art of Being Young and Beautiful, and it can be ANYTHING that you wanna hear more about. Continuation of a storyline, elaboration of back stories, or elaboration of a side pairing. ANYTHING. And don't worry, I've worked out my RoChu vs. NiChu crisis (If you read the last note, you'll know what I'm talking about. Result is that NiChu won!) so I'm currently obsessively writing a NiChu fic that takes place in the Tang Dynasty. I know that pairing is definitely not as popular as PruHun or USUK or Spamano and the like, but if you're interested, check back on my profile some time in a few weeks? ...it might be up. ^^ I'll try to post it at the same time as the afterstory so I can alert you? Hope you liked the chapter, leave comments/reviews about your reaction and suggestions! :DDDD And get ready for the ENDING NEXT SUNDAY. **_


	9. Chapter 9: Their Dawn

_**And here it is. DA FINALE! First half, USUK, second half, PruHun. Quick warning before you jump right in: LOTS OF ANGST AND REALLY DRAMATIC! Now without further ado...ENJOIIIII~**_

* * *

Red brick walls, black spiraling gates, spotless glass doors. Arthur stared into the hotel lobby with a slightly scornful expression on his face. His stomach began to squirm. He had known that he would eventually end up in this predicament sometime soon, but he hadn't expected it to be this soon. Only two days and he had already received a call. Was his father really that worried? A pang of guilt struck him in the chest. _No, that can't be it. He may appear considerate...but in the end, isn't all he cares about image? Maybe he called me here because there has to be an explanation to the press for the cancellation of the wedding...but when had he ever discussed those things with me?_

"So...Dukes Hotel, huh?" Alfred muttered, fixing the building before them with a distasteful, sideways gaze. "That's...ironic. Are you sure your old man isn't playing a joke on us?"

Arthur heaved an exasperated sigh and slipped his hand out of Alfred's bigger one, stalking towards the door. "No, unfortunately, he hasn't the sense of humour. Now come on, let's go."

"Ugh, I don't understand why it has to be in one of these fancy hotels," Alfred complained as the cool air-conditioning hit their faces. "Why can't your family be normal for once?"

"Well...I think you'll find him to be less autocratic than my mother. But I don't know what you dislike about the hotels. It's perfectly comfortable."

Arthur asked the receptionist about visiting a staying guest, then the two continued on their way to the lifts. Once they were alone in the lift, Alfred abruptly reached over to pinch his cheeks. "Yeah, it's comfortable for little rich boy Arthur!"

"Hey! Stop it! Let go!" Arthur cried, flailing his arms at Alfred frenetically.

"Whoa! Whoa, careful there. Haha." Alfred finally released his cheeks, which Arthur rubbed with tender fingers in irritation. He shot Alfred a glare.

"What was that for?!"

"Ha! You have so much baby fat on your face! No wonder!" Alfred burst into laughter, hugging his own stomach.

"Hey! Sod off, you wanker!" Arthur's face promptly heated up as he aimed several blind kicks at Alfred's leg.

"Ow! Ow! Violent rich boy! Jeez, you kick hard."

"That's what you get," Arthur smirked, arms crossed over his chest in triumph. Sometimes, he felt like he was ageing backwards at an exponential rate when he was with Alfred.

"Fine! Then maybe I should just go up to your old man and ask him if I could have his son!"

"What?! Don't you dare!" Arthur yelled, the air pressure in his head jumping up a few notches. "...I'll...tell him myself."

They fell silent. Only the soft hum of the little steel box remained.

"...Really?"

Arthur nodded, ducking his head in embarrassment.

"...You're really going to tell him everything?"

"You're so annoying!" Arthur burst out. "Yes! Okay?" He turned his back on Alfred, fuming. The truth was, he himself didn't know how to say it. But he had decided that he would at least tell his father why he was so against marriage. He had been secretly feeling like a shameful wretch ever since that day at the Ritz-Carlton. The worried look on his mother's face coupled with her uncharacteristically lacklustre hair and skin was enough to jolt him out of his own selfishness. She always took the utmost care of her appearance. Call it vanity or call it love of beauty, but she was convinced it was one of the only things she had left in life. So he began to think: Maybe he had overplayed this entire debacle. Maybe he had over-dramatised it. Maybe if he had just told his parents...Maybe he had been too caught up in himself.

"You know,"—he turned to face Alfred again, voice quivering slightly— "After this...there's no going back."

Alfred gave him a puzzled frown. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that after this...you're stuck with me the rest of your life." He turned his head away, only to find his own warped reflection on the white marble walls of the lift.

"Arthur..."

"I mean! I mean that you're going to have to take responsibility and put up with me no matter what! With my bad spending habits and luxury clothing and all that rich stuff you hate!" Ah. So this had been bothering him all along, somewhere deep down beneath his gut. What if Alfred got tired of him? Got annoyed with him? He knew that he was nowhere near patient or perfect.

Ding. They had finally reached the top floor. Alfred still hadn't responded, but had retained an inscrutable expression. Arthur followed him nervously out of the lift, a tight knot seizing his chest. Why wasn't he saying anything?

"I'll work really hard in Hollywood and earn lots and lots of money so you can spend all you want."

Arthur blinked. "What?"

"Well, that's the only thing I could think of! I'm not good at business, and I'm not rich like you and Gil! There's nothing else I can do!"

A still moment as they stopped in the hallway. Alfred faced him with honest, blue eyes. "I'm sorry if that's not enough for you."

"...Ha...No, I...I'm just..." Arthur tried to conceal the joy that shot up inside of him like a geyser. "...happy."

They exchanged no more words as they proceeded down the hall, their quiet footsteps treading the soft carpet discreetly. Because there was nothing else to say. Arthur knew for sure now that he was making the right choice. Life was constructed of a million different decisions, intricately weaved and folded thousands of times. You can never be sure of the future, so you try to be sure of all your decisions. And Arthur Kirkland had never been so sure of another decision in his life.

* * *

The room was spacious. Posh, with airy white and cerulean walls, comfortable armchairs, couches, and various other cushioned surfaces. The style was reserved, but still distinctly high-class without any of the elaborate finesse, just the way Arthur knew his father liked it.

The Duke himself was sitting across the tea table from Arthur, one leg crossed over the other. He hadn't changed much in the past year, for the exception of the increased number of grey specks amongst well-groomed, blonde locks. He was a slim man, much like Arthur himself, though slightly taller with scholarly, square spectacles upon his nose. He always called his own eye colour hazel, but in truth, there was no one colour that could describe his eyes. They were a unique blend of inky green, light beige, and a few wisps of dark coffee. Tranquillity poured out soundlessly from those eyes. They always had a calming effect on Arthur ever since he was a child. He had the appearance of someone very clean and intelligent, with an elegant posture and a hint of benevolence in the slight curve of his lips.

"Hello, Arthur," he said. Arthur thought that he caught the flicker of an attempt to smile.

"Hello..."

They were alone. Just the two of them. It suddenly occurred to Arthur how long it's been since the last time they were alone together. And how unpleasant that meeting had been. _That's right...that last time...was when I found out about Peter._

"Arthur, do you know how much you made us worry?" His tone was not accusatory. In fact, he barely raised his voice, but it contained a taciturn impact nonetheless.

"...I'm sorry." Arthur fidgeted with the corner of his shirt. "For making you worry."

A thoughtful pause. "But I guess I can't blame you."

"...Huh?" Arthur was caught unawares_. Can't blame me? I thought you would blame everything on me. _

"I've done you wrong, Arthur. How can I expect you to forgive me so effortlessly?" He smiled a little sadly.

"I didn't run away because...It wasn't because of..._that_. It was because of the-"

"Marriage. I know. And I know that you wouldn't consent to it in the first place."

"So then why-?"

"Because when your mother insisted on marriage, I thought it would tie you down to the family. I had my own selfish reasons, you see. You're my son, Arthur. Don't you think that I can tell when you purposely try to distance yourself from me?"

"I..." The guilt inside his chest thickened. Perhaps he had been too unmethodical and unassuming, not to mention too overcome by his own egocentric desire for escape.

"As I've said before, I don't blame you. I realise that tying you down with an unhappy marriage is futile and unfair, especially when I myself am a victim of such a marriage."

Arthur said nothing. Only stared at the little flowers etched into the carpet. He had never heard his father discuss the state of his marriage before, though it was plain to Arthur it was far from successful.

"Even if you hate me, Arthur, I ask that you do not scorn your home," he continued. The twinge of forlorn in his peculiar eyes made Arthur unable contain his shame.

"I don't hate you!" Arthur gushed. "I don't...I just wanted freedom...but I was being stupid. I should have just...told you earlier...I just didn't know how..."

The Duke fixed him with a suspicious gaze. "What is it?"

"Look...You should probably let Peter inherit the title and estate."

The Duke's frown deepened, the lines on his forehead converging in a valley. Arthur was sure that he hadn't so many lines on his forehead the last time they met. "You know very well I can't do that, Arthur. So why would you suggest it?"

"Ah...well...you see...I'm probably never going to get married or have children."

He laughed a little and said, "Many people think that in their youth but soon change their minds afterward."

"No...it's not because..." Arthur clenched his hands together nervously, nails digging into his palm. The flowers in the carpet grew blurry. He had been hiding for so long he didn't know how to get out. He was afraid. Frightened, actually._ Why can't I just bloody say it?!_ He didn't want to devastate his parents more than he already had.

"Are you in love with someone, Arthur?" _Still sharp as ever... _

"Erm..." He let out a long sigh and finally gave in. "Yes. I am. But it's not...what you think..."

"Please clarify," the Duke urged gently.

"I...I'm...ah...erm," –_here goes a total whim—, _"...I'm a homosexual. Erm. I like men."

He peered up at his father carefully. The Duke was staring at him his mouth hanging slightly ajar, and astonishment written clearly on his face. But he quickly recovered, blinked a few times, and managed, "Ah. I see."

Arthur was uncertain. Was he angry? He seemed normal enough. But he was good at hiding things like this.

"So you're in love with a man..." the Duke mused, as if reorganising his thoughts.

Arthur nodded, using all his willpower to prevent himself from hiding his face. He wasn't sure whether to be relieved or suspicious that his father seemed to be taking this surprisingly well. If it was with his mother...she would be in hysterics by now.

"Well, then. As long as you're sure it's love," the Duke said after a long moment of contemplation. Unexpectedly, he seemed more intrigued than disgusted.

"But...you're not going to disown me?" Arthur became quizzical at once. He had always thought his father as overly conservative, whether it came to politics or societal standards. He had thought that both his parents would throw a fit and then try to 'fix' him like he was a mental patient.

"What? No, of course not. I'm not your mother, Arthur," he said, giving his son a funny kind of frown. "I was just surprised, that's all." A thoughtful pause, and then, "You know, when you were growing up, I was quite unhappy with the principals your mother was filling you up with. But I didn't say anything because she's rather...provocative. But I eventually began regretting that you've become spoiled and idle and that it was too late to change anything. While I've failed as a father, I'm glad you worked it out on your own." Arthur drew a blank. What? Was this his father the Duke? He sat there with a vacant stare as he cautiously revisited his own memories. Every summer he spent in Switzerland and every winter he spent in Berkshire...And now that he thought about it, his mother was the one who always taught him about prestige and wealth. His father had always stood back and gave a few nods. He had thought that it was simply a way of expressing agreement, but it appeared that it was not the case at all. _What...does that mean that I haven't known my own father for all these years?! _He was dumbfounded.

"So," His father soon interrupted his train of thoughts with a soft reminder. "It's silly of me to ask you now, but how are you, Arthur?" He smiled, the edges of his strange, rare eyes crinkling like folds in a thin piece of paper.

"I...I'm fine." Arthur cleared his throat. It was a rather empty answer, but he didn't know what else to say.

"I see. And what about money? Are you getting by?" Ah, so this was what he was concerned about.

"Well, I haven't starved to death yet. I'm cutting back though. From how I used to spend anyway." And it was painful. He suspected it would be the closest he'll ever get to rehabilitation in his life.

His father chuckled in amusement and said, "I remember you distinctly declared you could not live without your car. What was it...the Aston Martin if I'm not mistaken."

"Ah...right...the Aston Martin..." _God, I miss that car!_ "Unfortunately, I had to sell it. But the Audi right now is alright. I had Gil add a few features and it drives quite smoothly."

"...I've been wondering this since you mentioned lover, but is he by any chance-"

"No! No...haha. Gilbert's...normal." Arthur hadn't the energy to tell the story of his unrequited love. Not right now at least. It was a story for another day.

"Ah. I see. So who...?" He could see that his father was genuinely interested, which was quite uncommon outside the realm of history, economics, politics, and golf.

"He's an American. His name is Alfred." It was strange talking about Alfred to the Duke, especially when the very subject was right outside the door. But no. He wasn't going to introduce his American boyfriend to his aristocrat father that day. It was still too early for that. But perhaps one day...

His father arched an eyebrow, then suddenly began to laugh. "You've always had a knack for surprising me," he chuckled. Arthur allowed himself a few laughs, too. For the first time in a long while, he was confident about who he was and where he came from.

He glanced towards the clock on the wall. "I best be on my way," Arthur said in a tone of finality as he stood up. The Hub was open for business in approximately 20 minutes.

The Duke stood up, too, as if afraid he would miss his chance to bid his son farewell. "Take care, Arthur. And come home once in a while." Then he added, as an afterthought as Arthur reached for the door handle, "Now I have to relate this story to your mother. I'll be looking forward to that." Arthur was left with the Duke's mild, good-humoured chuckle as he stepped out into the hallway and rejoined Alfred's side. He shut the door behind him with a soft thump.

"So, how was it?"

"It was...I have a home again." Those words fell light upon his chest as the two rode their way down the lifts and strolled out the glass door onto St. James. The skies were clear for a short window after days of being grey and downcast. Without knowing it, Arthur found his hand entwined in Alfred's. He smiled quietly to himself as he listened to his companion ranting about a new Hollywood film that was going to be in theatres next week.

They crossed the street onto the pavement, and Arthur suddenly had the odd feeling that someone was watching them. He whipped around, and his eyes fell on the white sash window on the sixth floor of Dukes Hotel. Sweeping aside the thin, silk curtains with one arm, his father's familiar figure perched behind the glass pane. The Duke gazed down at them with a slightly amused smile upon his lip.

"Arthur? Arthur! What's wr-" Alfred stopped, too, and craned his neck up at the window. To Arthur's surprise, his father the Duke smiled and waved.

"Oh! Hey! Is that your old man?!" Alfred asked with unnecessary gusto and thrill. "He's not so bad!" Alfred, to Arthur's great chagrin, eagerly waved back.

"What're you-" Arthur started, but it was already too late.

"Heeeyyyy! Don't worry! I'll take good care of him!" Alfred yelled up at the window, flashing his brightest grin. Arthur couldn't tell whether or not his father had heard them. The Duke only laughed.

"Sh-shut up!" Arthur flushed, and, seizing the American's wrist, dragged him away.

And on they went. Down the road on which their paths had crossed. Side by side.

* * *

Five days. By 4:37 am tonight, it would be a full five days. Five days since Gilbert had walked out her door. Elizabeta had been counting. The hours. The minutes. Even the seconds sometimes.

They had reported his disappearance to the police two days ago, but with the little information they had, there were no leads. Where could he have gone? Elizabeta had even called a few friends back in Berlin and none of them knew where he was. As far as she knew, he could be in France or Sweden or Greece*. And if they didn't find him soon, he can apply for a visa leave Europe altogether. Then...she repeated to herself over and over again not to allow her imagination run away with her. But it just seemed so futile.

"Eliza. Eliza. Hey, Eliza."

Elizabeta felt a large hand on her shoulder. She jerked away in fright, blinked a few times, then Ludwig's disquieted frown came into focus before her. "Oh. It's you, Ludwig."

She was sitting at the bar, absentmindedly swirling a glass of scotch in her hand, the ice cubes tinkling against the cup as it rolled lazily about. She glanced over at Alfred and Antonio, who were preoccupied with customers. And abruptly, a glimpse of his figure. His white hair as he twisted his head around in laughter. She made an instinctive lurch in his direction. But he was gone. It had been merely a beam of light that caught the shine of a steel fork.

"Are you alright?" Ludwig turned her around so she faced him. "You're quite absentminded today." She gave him a dry, humourless smile. It wasn't just today. It was the past five days, though it felt more like five years.

She averted his acute, blue gaze, eyes downcast at the alcohol in her hands. "How do you do it?"

"...Do what?"

"Keep calm, I mean. After hearing all of that..." Her low voice trailed off into the mid-supper buzz.

Ludwig sighed. A sigh that deflated the fatigue in his lungs. And Elizabeta realised that she had been mistaken. "I'm not calm at all. I haven't slept more than three hours each night for the past few days. But I guess none of that matter. I just hope he'll come back soon so I can beat some sense into him."

Elizabeta bit her lip. The images of that little boy with burning, glass tears rewound and replayed in her head. The scene in her imagination was blurred. In it, she could never see Gilbert's young face clearly. Only a dark shadow over his features and two red eyes drenched in fear. The more she tried to make out the details of his features, the more it retreated into the darkness. "Lutz...do you think he'll come back?" This was the question. The one that had been stuck on the inside of her throat.

"...Of course." But Ludwig was uncertain. Elizabeta could hear it in his voice, see it in his eyes.

"Hey, shouldn't you two be...ah...working?" Elizabeta looked up to find Alfred leaning over the counter, frowning at them with curious eyes. His gaze was directed at Ludwig, the one who was usually always goading everyone else to work.

"Ah! Ja. I apologise." Ludwig stood up stiffly and walked away.

"And what about you, Liz?"

Elizabeta shook her head and finished the rest of the scotch in a single swig. The hot sting of alcohol slid down her throat. She didn't taste anything. "Should I regret it, Al?" she blurted out of the blue. She suddenly realised she had been carefully treading around this question for a long time.

"Regret what?"

"Falling in love."

But to her surprise, Alfred laughed, then took the empty glass from her hand. "Of course not. Regretting it won't do you any good," he smiled back.

His words slowly sank in_. 'Regretting it won't do you any good...' So what should I do? I can only sit and wait. I feel so useless. _

"Hey, Liz. Don't torture yourself over this, okay? Worrying yourself sick won't do you or him any good. It's not your fault. I can't guess what that guy's thinking, but he's always got a reason for everything. That guy lives on logic alone and you know that." Alfred tried to comfort her with a commiserating pat on her head."You know how he always goes on about how love doesn't exist?" he continued after a short pause. "I think that he's a hypocrite."

"Why do you say that? As far as I can see, he hasn't ever betrayed his sex-only rule," she sniffed.

"Nah, he gives lots of love. For instance, his brother. And his friends too. Who else goes that far for his friends?" He laughed a little and shook his head in what seemed like disbelief. Elizabeta somehow had the strangest notion that Alfred knew something she didn't. "Hey, Liz. When you two make up, which I'm confident that you will, ask him about the car chase the other day. You'll love that story."

Seeing the sunny grin Alfred had on his face, Elizabeta's mood lightened slightly. She was always in awe of that optimistic grin. _Maybe_, she thought_, if everyone had a little of Alfred's hope, we'd all be better off. I definitely need some of that right now...sitting here and feeling dejected won't get me anywhere. That's right. I need to pull myself together._ She suddenly stood up, the pub stool almost tipping over as she did. "Thanks, Al."

And she finally turned back to all the people talking and laughing, absorbed in the alluring fragrance of food and the peak of their own youth. As she weaved her way through the tables, it occurred to her for the first time how many trials and tribulations sat in this room at this very moment. Behind each face red with wine was a story. Someone abused, someone neglected, someone lost, someone disenchanted. Their faces were all around her, and their words filled the space with mirth and merriment. Spiralling, floating upwards. Elizabeta wondered if somewhere above the grand firmament, someone was listening to the resonating music of their joy. Here they were, in a magical pocket of the universe where all troubles were forgotten. And maybe that was what Gilbert was running from. All of this laughter, all of this joy. All of this love. He was running from love. But why? What was the worst that could possibly happen if Gilbert Beilschmidt fell in love?

* * *

Quiet chatter. Calm night. All the clinking of glasses and plates and silverware was gone, along with the voices that created that atmosphere so alight with vivacity. All that remained were the used. Used tables, used chairs, used bowls, used cups. But that was alright, because it was just them now. The workers who gave the Hub its life, wiping down counters and cleaning tabletops.

Elizabeta slipped into the kitchen, skilfully manoeuvring the cart piled high with the last of the plates and utensils. She stopped beside the washing machine and set then down, wiping away a few beads of sweat on her brow.

The door behind her on the other side of the room creaked open and closed with a heavy thump. "Rough day?" she heard Arthur ask as he yawned.

"It's been...alright," she concluded after a long pause for thought. And it has been alright. More alright than yesterday that was. Gilbert was still on her mind. In every movement and flutter. But she was somehow happy to be in love again, despite his being gone. Somehow, she convinced herself that she was going to find him. And she was going to make him come back.

"I see," Arthur said, just as he yielded to the onslaught of chefs that streamed through the kitchen door. They had apparently just finished their after-hour drinks.

"Ah! Another night spent without a lady. What a waste," Francis sighed as he stretched his arms. He had been relatively less promiscuous lately, what with all that was going on.

"Francis, you should really stop indulging in excessive sexual activity. You're going to get a poor girl pregnant eventually. You're already very lucky you haven't yet," Blanche lectured, wagging a disapproving finger at her heedless brother. Francis feigned a long yawn and quickly escaped Blanche's nagging to the opposite side of the room. Elizabeta always thought Blanche resembled a strict pedagogue while Francis was the lazy student who always skipped class.

"Blanche, don't even bother with that bastard. He's going to die old and alone anyway," Lovino interjected with two butcher knives in his hand.

"What?! _Excusez-moi!_ I may die old but I certainly won't be alone," Francis exclaimed dramatically.

"He's telling the truth," Arthur said with a sarcastic wave of the hand, "His life plan is to be the next Hugh Hefner."

"Ah! That would be splendid indeed," Francis agreed with a confident nod. "How well you know me, _mon ami_."

"Don't give him too many ideas, Arthur. He actually might take them seriously," Blanche sighed, shaking her head.

_"Je suis offensé!*__"_ Francis sniffed, then began rambling to Blanche in French. Elizabeta had never studied French in depth before, so all she could discern were the words 'big brother.'

As she stood back and watched their pointless bantering, she couldn't help but allow a smile to hang upon her lips. _How curious,_ she thought. _How curious that we go around day after day and never notice how much we depend on each other to nourish ourselves. We depend on each other for help, for laughter, for friendship, for love. So why can't you allow yourself to depend on anyone, Gilbert? Why aren't you blissfully oblivious like the rest of us? _

Bam. The door flew open, making all them jump. In barged a breathless Bella with a wet mop still in her hand. But the urgency on her face was enough to alarm everyone.

"He's back." Her voice was barely audible, but it cut clearly through the stillness of the room. It didn't resonate. But it sliced open the very fabric of the air.

No one made a sound. Not a single word as they rushed out into the front to join Feliciano, Antonio, Alfred, and Ludwig. Every pair of eyes fell upon one person.

London's darkness was juxtaposed against the enormous span of glass, as if the picturesque night streets were merely separated by a thin film. The form of his shapely back reflected against the membrane. It seemed as if he had just stepped out of the darkness, through the transparent layer of film, and into the precision of this moment, his silhouette a dim outline on the black marble floor. Silver hair, tall nose, dark crimson eyes, illuminated by the low, orange light. His hands were deep in his jeans pocket, his eyes downcast. For an instance, a surreal photograph.

Then, the moment was shattered._ "Du Arschloch!" _It was Ludwig who broke the silence, jaw clenched and face red with anger. He exploded into a stream of curse-ridden German.

_"Do you have any idea how fucking worried we were?!" _he bellowed as he advanced on his brother,_ "I don't give a fuck where you went or why you left! At least leave a fucking note! (in German)." _

"_Es tut mir Leid*__, Ludwig_." His rasp was low. Hushed and quiet like Elizabeta's never heard it before. But a wave of emotions flooded her chest at those six tiny words. Relief, anger, joy. All at once. So powerfully she almost overflowed. Then, he trained his wavering red eyes on her, and she felt a shudder travel down her spine. His lips parted.

"Eliza. I need to talk to you."

She was about to answer when he turned his eyes on Arthur and said, "Can you do me a favour and...let us be alone?"

Arthur frowned back inquisitively. Then, reluctantly, he gave in. "Alright. Okay, everybody clear out. Clear out! Just leave everything where it is! Go!" He began shoving everyone towards the door. Bella left her mop on the floor, Lovino left his butcher knife on the bar counter, and Antonio left the half-folded tablecloth strewn haphazardly over the tabletop. Everyone hurried past the two of them and out the door, with a few words of complaint from Lovino but no more. Ludwig trailed behind and looked back at his brother, unwilling to leave. He had much to say to Gilbert, too. But Arthur took his arm and pulled him outside.

The door closed with a final thump that echoed across the remaining emptiness. And it was just the two of them. Standing on either side of the room. Facing each other. Elizabeta could feel herself begin to shake, her lips quivering. Something was coming. He came back to say something to her. Something important. What was it? She could see it in his eyes as he approached with a stiff, unnatural gait.

"Elizabeta." He stopped an arm's length away from her. Upon closer examination, she could see the pale translucence of his skin and the dark bruises under his eyes. No. He had not been well.

"Elizabeta," he repeated, "I...am very sorry. I...messed up. And I think you deserve to know why...I can't...be with you. And why I'm leaving."

Her heart sank, like a ship capsizing to the bottom of the ocean floor. He was still apologising, just like the day that he left her alone in her room. He came back to finish it. That was all. And afterwards, he was going to leave, once and for all. She swallowed hard. "Then...tell me...why..." It was hard to control her own voice. _Why?_ She wanted to scream. _Why can't you stay?_

He heaved a long, forlorn sigh. And he still wouldn't look her in the eyes. Instead, he glanced at their reflection in the glass panes. "It's because I'm wrong." Elizabeta ground her teeth together in frustration. She remembered him saying something similar that night, too. What was it_? 'I'm wrong for you.' _

She finally couldn't take it anymore. The way he wouldn't look at her properly. He wouldn't acknowledge her. He wouldn't accept her. She had to make herself known. "What?! Just because your father died you have to be some sort of martyr?!" she screamed. Then, shocked by her own words, she clamped her hand over her mouth. No, no. She hadn't meant it like that. Too harsh.

"She...told you? About...the suicides..." The hollowness in his whisper was amplified by the emptiness. By the black marble floor and the film-like glass. By the inside walls of her chest. She could only nod.

But to her surprise, he only sighed and gave one wry, humourless laugh. "Well, I guess that would make my job easier, then."

Her eyes grew wide, then her brows furrowed. She took a step closer and reached for his hand. He grimaced, and jerked away.

"Listen, Eliza. I need to tell you why I am...the way I am so you can understand...So I need to tell you the...real story."

"The...real...?"

"Please hear me out until the end." Their eyes finally met, his red ones boring into hers. They were dark and pleading. It gave her heart an uncomfortable lurch.

"I've never told anyone else before...so..." He shook his head, as if in mental preparation. He was struggling. Struggling so hard. "You know the story they always tell you. That Papa left the stove on but it didn't light. And then when he did light it...the house exploded..." He waited for her nod of confirmation, then continued, "But that's not what happened. The truth is...that...he...No, I have to start from the beginning...It was the morning. I remember it clearly. The sun was out. There were no clouds. Mama was out with Lutz. I was alone with Papa at home. He always liked tea in the morning so he would always boil a pot of water on the stove. Every morning was like that...And that morning was no exception. I remember watching him put the water into the pot and then the pot on the stove. But then...he left. And forgot...to light...the fire...so then...I..." His voice began to crack as his sentence came out broken, fighting himself to utter the next word. Elizabeta felt a surge of cold through her body. As if her blood had iced over. This man Gilbert. Whom she had always cherished as a friend and now as her beloved. He was breaking. Falling apart in front of her eyes.

"...I...turned...the knob...but...the f-fire...didn't light..." He had squeezed his eyes shut, clutching he sides of his head like there was a universe fracturing inside his head. "And I...went outside...to play...and about...t-ten minutes...l-later...I saw him...come back downstairs...and I was...about to call out to him...and...and...then...he lit a...cigarette..." A dull thump. Gilbert collapsed to his knees, shaking, trembling, quivering. Elizabeta approached cautiously and knelt down in front of him. She reached out an arm and gently touched his cheek. The surface of his skin felt cold against her fingertips.

"Oh...Oh...Lord..." Without thinking, she wrapped her arms around him tightly and buried her face in his shoulder. _Gilbert is here,_ she told herself, _Gilbert is here. I won't let him suffer anymore._

But when he spoke, his voice was hollow. Apathetic. "Elizabeta. Please let go."

She peered up at his face as she grudgingly released him. He was broken. So defeated. She would have never imagined that Gilbert Beilschmidt, the man she remembered for his laughter and devilish wiles, would ever wear that expression. That despondent pain. And she realised. This was where he was. The little boy crying burning tears. This was where he had been hiding for all those years. Quietly. Never to disturb, but always watching. Through that dark tunnel in Gilbert's eyes.

"Don't pity me, Eliza. Don't...don't give me sympathy," he said, shaking his head, his voice growing in volume with each syllable. "Don't you see? Why I'm...wrong! I'm not right! My existence! I shouldn't...be alive...I don't...I'm a coward!"

"How could you say that?! It was an accident! It wasn't your fau-"

"No! Don't you get it?! I don't deserve any of this! Wealth or opportunity or anything!" He climbed onto his feet, hands clenched into tight fists, his knuckles turning white. His entire body was convulsing rigidly.

And then it struck Elizabeta. "...So that's why. That's why you wouldn't take your inheritance! What did you do?! Tell me now!" she screamed, immediately springing up behind him.

He ground his teeth and glowered at the bottles and glasses on the shelf behind the bar counter. "Okay! Fine! I asked him! I begged him to forgo my inheritance! I begged!"

"Gilbert! How could you do that?!"

"How could I?!" He spun around to face her, contempt and disgust in every detail of his face. "How could I kill my own father?!" His words seemed to echo around in the room. Elizabeta could hear each heavy breath he took that blended in with the echoes. His visage, distorted by abhorrence. The hopeless sentience in the crimson gaze that he fixed her with. And the fear. She saw it like a shadow that haunted his countenance. He hated himself. And she loved him.

"Elizabeta. You have to try and understand," he said, attempting to regain control over himself. His eyes grew cold. So cold and far away like the ends of the earth. "As I've said before. I'm a coward. I couldn't even bring myself to say anything after it happened...I don't deserve to be loved..." He uttered the words with such torture in his eyes. "I always say that love doesn't exist. I guess it's because I'm envious. Because love doesn't exist. For me."

"That's not true! I love you!" she cried, tears stinging her eyes. How could he say that to her? How could he look her in the eye and say that? It broke her heart.

"You shouldn't, then! I'm undeserving! I'm a coward who can't even take his own life...I'm a coward who...who _shouldn't_ be alive!"

A blur of motion. Elizabeta heard a distinct metallic note bounce back against the glass window. And before she knew it, he had the knife in his hand—the one Lovino had so innocently left on the bar counter— thrusting it blindly towards his own chest. The malicious glint of steel caught Elizabeta's eye.

"NO!" Her legs moved by themselves. She lunged forward and seized his arms. Pulling, jerking, screaming at the top of her lungs as he struggled against her. Hot tears blurred her vision as they spilled over onto her cheeks. All she knew was that she couldn't let go. She had to hang on no matter what.

Clink. The blade fell to the floor. She kicked it aside and- smack! Right across his face. Ear-splitting and unforgiving. His head snapped back to face her, clutching his throbbing cheek with one hand with stunned, bloody eyes. He had been jolted awake from a deep trance.

"HOW COULD YOU DO THAT?!" She was screaming as hard as she could, tears cascading down her cheeks. Her throat felt like it might tear. "HOW COULD YOU BE SO SELFISH?! DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT FEELS LIKE TO ME?!"

"I-"

"YOU _WHAT?!_ YOU HAVE _NO_ IDEA HOW THIS FEELS!"

An impulse seized her and she abruptly swiped the knife lying on the floor near her foot. She point the knife at her own throat. "This is what it feels like to me when you do that," she finished, her voice and hand shaking in unison.

And there it was. That sudden realisation, like being dunked in frigid water. Cold, hard, and abrupt. His eyes grew large and round with horror. "Eliza! Eliza, no!" he panicked. He grabbed her wrist and wrenched the knife from her weak grip. He threw it across the room. It skidded over the hard marble to land unceremoniously in a corner.

"No, no...no..." He enveloped her in his arms, clinging onto her very presence like a lost child. "No...I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry...I'm sorry," he kept mumbling over and over again. "I'm sorry..."

She took in a deep breath of air, her heartbeat slowing down some, and asked, "Gilbert...you keep apologising...what are you sorry for?"

"I...I'm sorry...I...love you," he uttered through trembling lips. "I know it's wrong...please forgive me...I did something unforgiveable...I'll hurt you...I beg you, stay away from me..." He was pleading. Pleading with her. Pleading with himself. Pleading...with his father.

Elizabeta learned the true pain of affliction. _He said...he loves me..._For a second, her blood melted in her veins and flowed again. And then froze up. Dismay. Dismay at his sad, sad words. The despair. The moment was dual, of two separately diverging emotions. Ah, so this was him. Here was that little boy. Now she understood why he cried. He cried for forgiveness.

He was being torn apart right before her eyes. She didn't know what to say. So she wrapped her arms tightly around him. He hastily pushed her away.

"I can't. I'm sorry."

She ground her teeth. She couldn't take it anymore. The way he tortured himself. "Stop it! Stop apologising!" she burst out. "_Look at me!_"

Her outcry startled him. He winced, and automatically obeyed. She didn't care anymore. Whether she was being rash or not. "You're such a...a...a Dummkopf! You're so stupid! Do you think killing yourself would make anything better?! You _are_ a coward! You're a coward because you choose to run from love instead of face it! Not because of anything else! Stop hurting yourself! You just end up hurting everyone who cares for you...stop it...just...stay with me..."

She seized his collar forcefully and kissed his cracked, parched lips. Then, they grew quiet. Saying nothing. Only standing in the middle of the vacant restaurant. And it was at that point that her strength began to die. She was spent. Drained. Her throat, her lungs, her heart. She just wanted everything to be alright again. For her to be with Gilbert so they could laugh and drink and complain about the world. She didn't care if she was being naïve.

And then he finally ventured to speak. "It's funny. The second time I tried to commit suicide...Mama said something similar. She begged me to stop hurting myself and stay with her. Just like you." He had calmed down some. Regained some composure. And she breathed an inward sigh of relief. Because the moment of danger was gone.

She peered up at him, inky green meeting blood-crimson. The red in his eyes were stirring. Battling. Warring. She instantaneously grabbed onto it.

"Gilbert...stop running. Stop apologising for love, okay?" She could see the hesitation in his eyes. The insecurity. He couldn't let go of him. The little boy on the other side of the tunnel.

"Gilbert..." she took his hand and interlaced their fingers. "Please. I'll be with you."

He swallowed hard. She knew he was trying to eradicate the fear. He was trying so hard. And that was hope enough. She smiled, knowing the storm was past. Settled, for now. A silent agreement that passed between the two of them. The dark tunnel in his eyes had dissipated, replaced by pallid fatigue. In the end...

She rubbed her bleary eyes, swollen from crying. "Look what you did to me," she sniffed, pouting. The corners of his cracked lips even lifted in a wan smile.

She threw her arms around his neck and held on as tightly as she could, with all the strength she could muster. He was going to stay now, whether he liked it or not. Stay with her. He was wounded. She was going to give him solace. She grabbed onto him now. And she was never going to let go.

* * *

_One month later..._

"Cheers! To our new partner!" A mass echo of 'cheers' and a chorus of clinking glasses. Then, every head in the room tilted to the ceiling as they drank to their hearts' content.

It was a rare scene as they sat in the empty restaurant that Friday night, chairs placed to form a wide circle around a single, large table. Gilbert's eyes swept the people in the circle one by one. Antonio was sitting with Lovino to his left, followed by Feliciano who was talking at lightning speed about pasta to Francis. Roderich, who was a little uncomfortable with the alcohol, sat next to Basch. Basch was between Arthur and Roderich, a smile playing on his face the first time since Gilbert had met him. Directly across from Gilbert was Arthur, who had just made the toast to the new partnership between him and Basch (who was ever the avid investor), officially documented as of 24 hours ago. And to Arthur's left were Alfred, Yao, Horace, Blanche, and Bella. To Gilbert's immediate left was Ludwig, who was relaxed against the back of his chair. And to his right was Elizabeta. She was beautiful, he thought. Long, brown tresses that tumbled down her shoulder to her chest. Green eyes that sparkled like emeralds.

It's been one month, but he still couldn't be certain staying was the right choice. He was a broken man, with dark shadows that haunted his memories. At that particular moment he had tried to take his own life, he was carried away. Carried away by those shadows. So what if it happened again? He still couldn't rid himself completely of those thoughts and beliefs that had latched onto his heart and weighed him down for so long. She didn't seem to care. But could he really make her happy?

But there was one thing he did understand. He was now just another lovesick bastard. Oh, how ironic.

Elizabeta gave him a hard nudge, breaking his train of thoughts. "Hey, Gil. You owe me £100," she sniggered, pointing to Roderich and Basch.

"What?!" _No way. No way. Not them, too. After Antonio and Lovino, and then Arthur and Alfred..._

"I asked Basch the other day. I swear! He was really just shy after all," she giggled.

"No way! You're lying! That makes half this room gay!"

"Well, you ask him yourself then!"

"No, that's awkward!"

"Then you'll ha-a-a-a-ve to take my w-o-o-ord for i-i-it," she sang, sticking her tongue out at him playfully. "And with the £200 for Lovi and Antonio, that makes £300 in all. You might as well take me shopping," she grinned smugly.

"Ugh...women," he grumbled under his breath.

"You know what? I'll make you a deal. Buy a new backseat for your car and I won't drag you shopping with me."

"What?! That'd cost thousands! And what's wrong with my backseat? It's premium leather!"

She pouted sulkily and said, "Well, I hate it!"

"Why?!"

Bella suddenly started giggling uncontrollably on the other side of Elizabeta. Gilbert peered over with an irritated frown. "What is it?! Just tell me!"

"Hahaha...Liz is such an idiot...But it's partly your fault, too..." Bella mustered between fits of giggles.

"Bella, don't you dare..." Elizabeta started threateningly.

"What?!" Gilbert demanded, indignant. _  
_

"Look, do it and I'll tell you why. Do we have a deal?"

Gilbert rolled his eyes at her and relented. There was no helping it. After all of that insanity, he still felt as if he still didn't understand her one bit. And something told him that no matter how many dates they would go on, he would never fully grasp the deep mysteries of her mind.

"Oh, Lord it's already 4:30," Arthur abruptly said. Everyone stopped their chattering and followed his line of sight to the clock on the wall. The hour and minute hands indicated 4:32 am.

"Whatever. It's Saturday tomorrow, um, today," Alfred waved him off. Then, his eyes suddenly lit up. "Hey, wanna go watch the sunrise? Since it's already morning, we might as well."

"Why not?" Francis shrugged. And in about three minutes, they were all in agreement.

They drove down to Hampstead Heath, four cars one right after the other, Arthur's Audi in the lead, followed by Gilbert's Mercedes, Ludwig's Mercedes, and Yao's BMW. The road seemed to merge into Lovino's unending complaints and Francis's exaggerated boasting in the backseat as Gilbert steered steadily down the receding London boulevards. Elizabeta was next to him in the passenger's seat, flicking through all the radio channels for entertainment. Gilbert smiled quietly to himself. If he had to be stuck in this moment for the rest of his life, he wouldn't mind it at all.

They pulled in the park and tumbled out of their cars one by one, spirits high along with the spring in their step. It was still dark out, but they breathed in the pure crispness of early morning. It had been raining nonstop for the past three days. The air, washed and rewashed, was cool and refreshing upon their skin.

After making a roughly circular trek around the park, they settled down at the highest point, gazing out into the city skyline through the black silhouettes of trees. Rooftops—flat, pointed, and round—blurred together into a single horizon, like one dark brushstroke across the bottom of the canvas that was the sky.

Gilbert stared at the shadowy outline of Elizabeta's curved back before him, and that old mischievous smile played on his lips. "_Guten Morgen*_," he whispered, wrapping his arms around her from behind. She laughed in amusement and kissed his cheek. "Let's not go home this weekend," he said.

"Why not?" she asked.

"Let's rent a room at the Ritz. So we can stay in bed all day and all night." Elizabeta broke into laughter. He felt her spontaneous tremors against his chest. During moments like this, he was always so sure of the present. There was no way to know tomorrow, so he wasn't going to try. But he knew now. He knew today.

"Hey!" Alfred hailed. He pointed to the horizon.

One single ember. Then, one spark. One beam. The great star that lit up their small world peaked over the skyline, its grand, orange rays sweeping over the city of London, engulfing it in a warm, velvet embrace.

Gilbert glanced all around at the people who stood beside him on the cusp of this marvellous new day. Blanche, Bella, Feliciano, Yao and Horace, Francis, Roderich and Basch, Ludwig, Lovino and Antonio, Arthur and Alfred, and lastly, at the miracle he held in his own arms. Elizabeta, smiling into the glow of dawn. And he marvelled at their lives, just one brilliant thread of gold intertwined with another in the fabric of the universe. But it was golden nonetheless, its subtle elegance shimmering in the morning sun. At the end of each day, he realised, they were all in love. In love with this beautiful city, in love with their own selves, and in love with each other. And each morning, when their little corner of the world began to awaken from its deep slumber, they crossed their fingers over their hearts and wished to fall in love again, while secretly praying to never fall out. Their lives were like an art. An art full of hope and passion. An art brimming with vitality and colour. An art empowered with the strength to stretch out their arms and grasp their futures. The art of being young and beautiful.

Fin.

* * *

1 For those of us unfamiliar with the European Union and how it works, here's the deal. There are barely any border controls between EU Member States, especially within the Schengen Area (Roughly, Europe without the British Isles). You don't need visas. You just step across the border and say hallelujah.

2 Je suis offense- I am offended

3 Es tut mir Leid- I'm sorry

4 Guten Morgen- good morning. Self-explanatory.

* * *

_**Since this is the last chapter, i shall type out the disclaimer once again. This is a work of fiction and in no way represents real people or events. Axis Powers Hetalia belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz. This story contains minor illegal actions, violence, and sexual themes. Do not do this at home! Do NOT drive like Horace and Gilbert, children!**_

_**Ahem! So this is the ENDING! Hahaha. I'm giddy somehow because it makes me sad AND happy to have finished this story...TT-TT I is feeling accomplished! I know the ending is really really dramatic...hehe. Sorry, Gil. I had to make you such a tragic character...So that aside, let me share with all of you readers who's followed me all the way through chapter by chapter a secret. Many of you commented that I'm either really punctual in updates or put a lot of words in since I first posted this story. That is because I've already FINISHED WRITING IT when I made the first post! I've just been holding out on you! :P Please don't be mad. I wrote the entire thing in about one month on my iPod app DraftPad (I email the parts I write to myself then copy paste into word doc and obsessively add/delete/edit stuff). It took lots of hard work and I did lots of research and wrote many different situations to the story where it may branch off in one direction or the other. It is after a dastardly amount of work that I've ended up with this particular sequence of events! Not to mention I added some parts after I was technically "done." I basically did not have contact with society during that one month, except with The Strawberry, who helped me by making helpful suggestions. Now, since this is the last chapter, shout-outs!**_

_**First shout-out goes to The Strawberry who I thank for her help (and inspiration), and also Ev who is badgering me to update the story at this very moment (no srsly RIGHT NOW as I type this)!**_

_**Second shout-out goes to my beloved HIMA-PAPA I'm SOOOO glad you're back (though that's kind of belated)! Good job on the new volume and new season! I'm so glad you're okay, you've had me worried with that REALLY LONG HIATUS. **_

_**Third shout-out goes to my two favourite characters England and Prussia, and also my two second-place-favourite characters, China and Germany! All four of you have fascinating histories and ah-mazingful spirit, whether it comes to war effort or determination or cleverness in general! I'm rooting for your economies! xDDDD**_

_**Fourth and final shout out of COURSE goes to my readers/followers/reviewers for either following this story from the beginning or middle, or just discovering it now. That's okay too! xD I really hope you enjoyed it, and also this is your last chance to post me reviews making suggestions about the afterstory. I HAVE DETERMINED that it WILL have BOTH USUK and PruHun in it! So review! Tell me what you think of the ending or the story in general or...anything really. So...THANKS FOR READING! **_

_**You will see me again when I post the after story. And you're also welcome to check out anything else I've written. xP**_


End file.
